


Freelance Good Guys: From the Ashes

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [32]
Category: Looming Gaia
Genre: Action/Adventure, Animal Attack, Blood and Gore, Centaurs, Character Death, Elves, Explicit Language, Fantasy, Friendship, Magic, Mutilation, Team as Family, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: Isaac pulls some unwanted attention as he searches for clues about his past. Now all of Drifter’s Hollow is in danger and things may never be the same.
Series: Looming Gaia [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/833844
Comments: 9
Kudos: 4





	1. Minervae's Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> For concept art, discussions, memes and more, check out the Looming Gaia blog: https://loominggaia.tumblr.com/post/175087795478/looming-gaia-masterpost
> 
> This story is a major turning point in the series. It's really dense, there's a lot of characters, and a ton of stuff happens. Please heed the tags for content warnings. Enjoy!

**[CHAPTER 1: MINERVAE’S SACRIFICE]**

_AUTUMN, 6007_

_“…I dropped to my knees before Lady Karenza and begged for her blessing. I came to her as a shallow-minded wretch the peoples called ‘Jubilee’, my eyespot sealed shut, unable to see any future for myself. Had I kept on as I was, my eternal life would have been nothing but a waste._

_I suppose Karenza saw my potential, or perhaps she just pitied me, for she took me into her temple and offered her guidance. In return, she asked nothing of me but my everflowing amphora. This I dreaded at the time, mourning its loss like a dead lover. But Karenza’s blessing allowed me to see just what a fool I’d been. She used her great power to transform me into a minervae, and suddenly my eyespot had opened to a new world of wisdom. I could even see into the future, and so I became known as Destiny._

_Karenza told me I was free to leave her temple, to go out into the world and use my new wisdom to make it a better place. But I was reluctant to go, for I knew she was in danger. She spoke of the Monster in the Mask often, had warned all of her followers of his power and cruelty._

_He had slain Azizala, the Divine of Love before her, and he could surely slay Karenza if we minervae were not there to protect her. He wielded an enchanted scythe known as the “Divine Executioner”. With it, he had destroyed Azizala’s divine soul, banishing her from the mortal coil forever._

_Though my sisters kept her temple high in the sky with their magic, though it was ever moving around Looming Gaia, this terrible Monster in the Mask somehow managed to hunt it down. He led his undead army through the sky on the backs of hideous dragons, flying on leather wings._

_I was not a soldier, yet I was still among those who fought this desperate battle. At the cost of many lives, we very narrowly prevailed. The Monster in the Mask was pulled back into the Cosmic Oblivion, where he would surely return on the next anniversary of his false death. He would return again and again until Karenza was slain._

_The temple was left in ruins. On that day, Karenza decided that her child was no longer safe with her. She then tasked me with the most arduous and important quest of my life: to seek out five of the most vicious titan nymphs to guard the Trial of Titans…”_

The Tome of Infinity snapped shut like the jaws of a crocodile. Isaac gasped, “Wait!” and pried it open again, frantically flipping through its pages. They were blank, every last one of them. Where there was text just seconds ago, there was nothing now.

“I wasn’t done reading! Please, _please_ tell me more! Come on!” Isaac pleaded with the book. He held it tightly in his trembling hands, but it would reveal no more of its story.

He had just returned home from another contract, still dressed in his filthy armor when he walked through the door of his house. It was just barely furnished with a chest full of snacks, a hammock, and a cushion on the floor. He dropped his satchel by the door, and as he began taking off his armor, he heard a heavy thud behind him. He turned to see the flap of his satchel was open, the tome lying on the floor nearby as it flipped its own pages back and forth.

Of course Isaac dropped to his knees and swiped it like a starving man to a meal. It had begun telling him this compelling story, and now it had not even the decency to finish it. He was left kneeling on the floor, nearly in tears, begging it to continue.

“This is really, _really_ important,” he said through his teeth. “You need to tell me the rest! Please, don’t do this to me!”

Still, the book would not budge. It sat lifelessly in his lap, as if no magic ran through it at all. Isaac didn’t know if Destiny was behind all this teasing or if the book had a mind of its own, and there was no way he could find out. He and the rest of the crew were banned from the World Athenaeum. Even if they weren’t, their last adventure in Matuzu Capital made them all reluctant to return any time soon.

Isaac shoved the book back in his satchel. It clearly wasn’t going to cooperate. He racked his brain for solutions, trying to think of anyone who may know about Karenza.

His brows arched when he remembered his nanny, Ginger. When the Freelance Good Guys disappeared on long, dangerous contracts and he was too young to follow, it was she who cared for him. He’d pester her with questions all day long, and it seemed there was nothing that woman didn’t know.

Isaac slung his satchel back over his shoulder and hurried out the door. It was late in the evening, when the surrounding forest drew long, bold shadows over the road to the village. He reached Ginger’s quaint little house, bypassed all three steps to the porch with one leap, and knocked on her door.

“Please be home, please be home…” he muttered to himself, bouncing anxiously. If he didn’t get answers soon, there was no chance he’d sleep tonight. The tome’s story would plague his mind like a swarm of flies buzzing in his ears.

The door creaked open. A red-headed satyr boy stood on the other side, looking up at Isaac with big, blue eyes. Clearing his throat, Isaac said, “Uh, hey, Tomato. I need to talk to your mom real quick. It’s really important.”

Tomato nodded, then turned back and called into the house, “Maaaahm! Isaac wants something and he says it’s important!”

“Well, let him in! And close that door, you’re letting the heat out!” Ginger called back from somewhere inside. Tomato stepped aside and let him through, quickly closing the door behind him.

The interior was warm and rustic. Heat radiated off the flames crackling away in the fireplace, where Itchy was stirring a pot of stew. Sitting in a chair beside him was Ginger, feeding Cinnamon from her breast as she knitted what looked like a blanket.

Her gaze flashed up at Isaac. She pulled the blanket over Cinnamon and her chest. “Is everything alright, Isaac?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just—” Isaac paused. Cinnamon began to squirm and whimper under the blanket. He told Ginger, “You don’t have to cover up. I’m not offended by, uh…that.” He gestured vaguely forward.

Cinnamon quieted instantly when Ginger removed the blanket. “Thank you. I’m sorry to assume.”

Isaac waved his hand and replied, “It’s okay. I get it. A lot of us commoners got a stick up our—” He bit his tongue, glancing over at Tomato. He then cleared his throat and said, “Nevermind. Um, I’m sorry to bother you guys so late, but my magical tome’s acting up and I need some help.”

Before they could ask, Isaac pulled Destiny’s Tome of Infinity from his satchel and flipped through it, showing them its blank pages. He continued, “This thing started telling me a story about the Divine of Love. But it left me hanging, so I thought maybe you knew the rest of it?”

“The Divine of Love…” Ginger repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t know too much about her myself, to be honest. But Itchy surely does! He used to be a priest of Love and Light, if you can believe it!”

“I was no priest. I was barely a janitor,” grumbled Itchy, adding a dash of herbs to the stew.

“But you grew up in one of her temples,” said Ginger. She turned back to Isaac and added, “He spent much of his young life serving the Divine of Love. He knows all those hymns and stories. I’m sure it would be no trouble for him to sit down and share them with you.”

“Aw, Ginj, come on! It’s late, I’m tired…!” her husband groaned.

But Ginger told him firmly, “Itchy, don’t be rude! Fix our guest a bowl and we can discuss this over dinner. Make yourself comfortable, Isaac. Our home is your home.” She pointed her knitting needle at the chair across from her.

Isaac tipped his head in gratitude and sat down. In but a short moment, Itchy set a bowl of steaming soup before him, rich with chunks of mushrooms, parsnips, and some kind of meat. Tomato served him a cloth napkin with a slice of buttered bread on it, as well as a piece of candy wrapped in rice paper.

“The candy is for dessert. Don’t eat it first or mom will get mad,” the boy whispered, taking a seat beside him.

The aroma of the stew alone made Isaac’s mouth water. “Thanks for the food, guys. It looks amazing,” he said, dunking his bread into the bowl. A medley of herbs delighted his tongue. “Mm! Tastes amazing too!”

Ginger smiled fondly at her husband and said, “Doesn’t it? Itchy’s a wonderful cook. He used to work in a kitchen, you know.”

“Yeah, in a dirty old tavern,” added Itchy. He leaned forward on his elbows and told Isaac, “But that tavern held secrets, passed down from generations of Koesh roshava. There’s one ingredient that’ll take any dish from the pig’s tough to the king’s table. You wanna know the secret to good food, kid?”

“Sure,” replied Isaac.

“Are you sure you can handle it? ‘Cause your spongy human stomach ain’t gonna like it.”

“We’ll see about that. Let’s hear it.” Isaac chewed his next bite over a confident grin.

“Alright,” began Itchy, “you know when roaches been scurryin’ around your place for a while, and they leave all that black stuff behind? You just sprinkle that stuff into the pot and—”

“Itchy! For gods’ sakes, that’s not even funny!” scolded Ginger, tapping him between the eyes with her spoon. Both Itchy and Tomato broke into laughter as she quickly assured Isaac, “He’s only kidding! There’s nothing bad in our food, I promise you! Everything here is fresh from our garden!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Isaac chuckled, though his next bite was a decidedly wary one.

“Okay, I’ll be honest this time,” said Itchy. “No lies, I swear. You ready to hear the real secret ingredient?”

“Let me have it,” said Isaac.

Itchy replied slowly, dropping his tone to a whisper, “It’s a big helping of raw, organic, free-range…bullshit!”

He and Tomato burst out into laughter once more. Ginger shot a menacing glare towards each of them, raising her spoon threateningly.

“Alright, alright!” laughed Itchy. “It’s garlic! It’s always garlic! When somethin’ don’t taste right, just throw more garlic at it ‘till it does! That’s how ya cook, it’s that easy!”

Ginger shook her head at her bowl and sighed, “This kind of potty-humor is not appropriate for the dinner table, Itchy!” She patted Isaac’s hand. “Isaac, darling, why don’t you tell us about this book of yours?”

Isaac wiped his chin with his napkin before he replied, “It’s a Tome of Infinity. A minervae gave it to me, and she told me everything she knows is written inside. Except, well, it only shows me stuff when it _feels_ like it. Usually the pages are blank.”

“You said it was telling you a story or somethin’?” queried Itchy, speaking over a mouthful of bread.

Isaac nodded. “Yeah, about the Divine of Love. I think her name is Karenza? I keep hearing her name when I’m in Serkel, but I’ve never seen her myself.”

“She’s got a lot of churches down there in the south. Especially in the Desert,” mentioned Itchy. “I never seen her either, and I jumped between those churches for years! Sometimes I wonder if she’s even real, or if the minervae just made her up to pocket donations.”

“She has to be real,” said Isaac, patting the book in his satchel. “Nymphs can’t lie, right? The book says this one met her in person. Karenza put some kind of spell on her that turned her from a maenad to a minervae. That’s what I heard when I was in Serkel too, that all minervae come from Karenza. Is it true?”

Itchy shrugged. “Far as I know. The maenads gotta give up their magic amphoras though, that’s the catch. That’s why the priests and all them ain’t allowed to drink. I guess if the minervae can’t have fun, no one can.”

“So, uh, the book said Karenza had a child,” mentioned Isaac. “Is that true too?”

Itchy recoiled slightly, caught off-guard by the question. “What? Nah, that ain’t true. You must have read wrong.”

“That’s what it said, I’m telling you! Are you sure?”

“Karenza’s a _divine_ , kid. She’s immortal! Immortals can’t have babies. Not the fun way.”

“What do you mean?” Isaac furrowed his brow, trying to understand.

Itchy told him, “Divines can hump mortals all they want, but they ain’t gonna make life that way. All they can do is make monsters. You know, demons ‘n spriggans ‘n all them nasty things. They walk and talk, but they got no souls! They’re not really _alive_ , not the way you ‘n me are.”

“Then if she had a child, it must have been…?”

“A monster,” Itchy finished for him, spooning a bite of food into his mouth. He spoke over it as he continued, “No soul, no afterlife. They don’t tap their feet to music and they don’t know what love is either. They’re barely real people, if you ask me! But I heard every story in the holy books, and I never heard nothin’ about Karenza making monsters. That ain’t really her thing.”

Isaac let out a small noise of acknowledgement, falling quiet as he stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth. He chewed it for a long, thoughtful moment. Finally, he swallowed the bite and asked, “What about the Trial of Titans?”

“The what?” Itchy cocked his head.

“The Trial of Titans. It’s like a, uh…it’s this magical dungeon… _thing_.” Isaac struggled to explain, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “That’s where the Guys found me. The tome said it’s related to Karenza somehow.”

After a pause, Itchy’s brows arched high and he exclaimed, “Oh! I think I know what you’re talkin’ about! There’s a legend in the holy book about a big, crazy dungeon in the Desert. Karenza left a fat load of treasure inside, but only folks with good hearts can see the dungeon at all.” He snorted, almost chuckled. “I looked for it every time I was in Serkel, thinkin’ I was gonna snag that gold and be rich! Big surprise, never found it.”

Isaac’s eyes rounded, brown cheeks blanching. His spoon fell from his hand and clattered on the table.

“Sweetie, are you alright? You don’t look well,” observed Ginger, brow wrinkling with concern.

The young mercenary swallowed the lump in his throat. He croaked breathlessly, “W-what if the treasure was…” He paused, wincing as if the next word pained him. “…Me?”

Itchy froze, spoon hovering half-way to his mouth. Tomato gasped, “What if Isaac is Karenza’s son?”

“You got wax in your ears, kid? I just said that’s impossible!” Itchy told him, lowering his spoon. He turned to Isaac and said, “Get over yourself. The treasure ain’t you! The scriptures say it’s more valuable than all the kingdoms combined. Granted, that’s back when the kingdoms were made of sticks and mud. But you?” He waved his hand. “Pff. I’d be hard-pressed to cough up more than a hundred on you at the slave market. No offense.”

Isaac’s heart was pounding in his chest. His forehead gleamed with sweat, and he felt like he may collapse right out of his seat. He planted his elbows on the table to steady himself and said, “The Guys found a ton of gold in there. They used it to build the compound. That must have been it then! Itchy, I-I think they actually found Karenza’s treasure!” He paused, then added, “But what about me? What was _I_ doing in there?”

The satyr shrugged. “Look, they could’ve stumbled into some imposter’s bootleg dungeon for all we know. No way it was the same one from the legends. There’s a million sleazy sorcerers out there who make a killing by impersonating divines. You got any idea how many fake Karenzas are running around, sucking tributes from people? Think about it! Those boneheads in your crew wouldn’t have seen her dungeon in the first place, much less got out of there alive.”

“But…” Isaac trailed off. Though Itchy’s reasoning was more likely, he just wasn’t convinced. “I think I gotta talk to a priest or something. Do you know where I could find one? Like, one who really knows this stuff?”

Itchy replied, “Oh, sure! I know lots of ‘em! In fact, I’ll take you right to their doorstep for the low, low price of…” He paused, stroking his graying beard in thought. “Eh, let’s say a thousand GP.”

Before Isaac could complain, Ginger beat him to the punch and scolded her husband, “Itchy, shame on you!”

“Fine, fine! I’ll settle for five hundred,” Itchy decided.

Ginger tapped his hand with her spoon and told Isaac, “He’ll take you to them at no charge, whenever you’re ready.”

“Aww, Ginj—”

“Don’t ‘aww, Ginj’ me, mister!” the satyress snapped. “This is a very important matter! Isaac was orphaned when he was just a boy. He has no idea where he came from, so if we can help him gather any clues, it would be criminal of us not to help him!”

“But it’s all the way in _Taybiya_ ,” Itchy groaned, dragging his palms down his face. “I hate that shit-hole! If I’m gonna set foot back on those streets, it better be worth my time!”

“I wanna go! Can I go? Please?” begged Tomato, tugging at his mother’s arm.

Ginger brushed him away and told him calmly, “Absolutely not. It’s much too dangerous for you.” She tipped her head towards Itchy, addressed Isaac when she said, “Itchy lived in Taybiya for most of his life. I’m sure he can get you in touch with all the right people.”

*

Within the next couple days, Isaac and Itchy set off on their journey. Such a journey was arduous on foot, but only a few hours long by sky, so Isaac piloted Shadow as Itchy rose in her gazebo. They left just before sunrise and touched down in the Taybiyan outskirts around high sun.

The surrounding forest of Southriver Wood seemed ablaze from afar as the season turned all the leaves from green to a vivid wash of yellow and red. Only the odd evergreen remained unchanged.

Isaac dismounted the roc’s saddle. Just as he reached for the door of the gazebo, it swung open and Itchy stumbled out, wheezing and clutching his chest. The satyr dropped to his knees in the grass, planting kisses on the carpet of damp leaves.

“You gonna be alright?” asked Isaac, helping him to his hooves.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Itchy shook out his quaking hands and replied, “I don’t know. We’ll see if I don’t have a damn heart attack on the way home…”

Itchy led the way as they travelled the dirt road through town. Taybiya was not a tall settlement. It was a sprawling maze of shoddy wooden buildings, bustling with a diverse population of peoples.

“Mind your pockets around these parts,” Itchy warned, and Isaac clutched his satchel tighter. He was dressed casually in a dull cotton tunic and ranch pants, his worn boots caked with mud. He knew he looked like a foreigner, but surely not a rich one.

Like many gaians, Itchy wore no clothes at all. He carried a satchel of his own, strapped around his shoulder with an additional strap around his waist. Some locks of his curly hair had tangled themselves into tight ropes, which he’d adorned with bits of string, small feathers, and bone beads. Or perhaps that was Ginger’s doing, Isaac thought. He couldn’t imagine Itchy, a man who barely bathed, putting a shred of effort into decorating himself.

They arrived at a stone building that stood two stories tall. Its walls were shrouded by ivy, browning with the season. It looked more like a fortress than any kind of church, with every window protected by metal bars. Two armed guards posted on the flat rooftop. Isaac squinted up at the guards, shielding his eyes from the sun. They patrolled back and forth along the roof’s length, appeared to be human or elven. They were armed with swords and bows.

“ _This_ is a House of Love and Light?” queried Isaac. “It looks like a barracks or something.”

Itchy banged his fist on the heavy wooden door, reinforced by iron plates. He replied casually, “Yep, they’re all like this. But they gotta be, ‘cause there’s wackos out there. These churches get attacked all the—”

The door opened with a heavy clunk and a loud creak. Isaac was suddenly facing the bosom of an enormously tall woman. He stepped back and craned his neck up to see the face of a minervae, looking down at him with her pink eyes. She was fair-complexioned, her pale, pink hair worn in a tall stalk that was ringed by yellow flowers. Her simple two-piece outfit was all in hues of green, wearing a top that bared her midriff and a long skirt with an apron. Such a style was foreign to this region, something Isaac was used to seeing women wear much further south in the jungles of Serkel.

The minervae’s eyes flicked from Isaac to Itchy, standing just beside him. She brought her hands to her mouth with a gasp. Itchy regarded her with a sheepish smile and a wave. “Hey, Patience. It’s been a while, huh?” he said.

The minervae stooped down to cup the satyr’s face in her hands. “Itchy! My goodness, how you’ve grown! Why, you must be in your forties!”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Creeping up on fifty now,” Itchy grumbled, then clapped Isaac on the shoulder and said, “Look, I’m not stayin’ long. The kid here just had some questions about Karenza.”

Patience blinked. “Oh! You’ve certainly come to the right place then. Please, come in.” She stepped aside and swept her hand towards the doorway. Isaac and Itchy passed through, following her down a corridor and into a vast, stone room choked with greenery. A round pool of water was carved into its center. Along the walls were benches for sitting, intricate stone statues of people Isaac didn’t recognize, and hundreds of potted plants cluttering the floor.

Priestesses of many species surrounded the pool, seemingly in a state of quiet meditation. Isaac saw more of them tending the plants, and among them were minervae like Patience. Green ivy and lush, colorful blooms covered the walls in defiance of the season, likely flourishing by magic.

Patience sat on the end of a long, stone bench, patting the seat beside her. There Isaac and Itchy took their seats. “My name is Patience,” she introduced herself to Isaac, pressing a hand to her heart. “I have served Karenza for almost a thousand years. If it is her wisdom you seek, I would be happy to share all that I know with you.” She folded her hands over her knees with a smile. “So, what has inspired you to seek this wisdom today?”

Isaac reached into his satchel. He pulled out the Tome of Infinity, presenting it to her as he explained, “A minervae gave this to me a while back. Her name is Destiny. She said it would tell me everything she knows, but I think it’s broken or—or it hates me or something.” He sighed. “Anyway, it started telling me a story about Karenza the other day. It said she was being attacked by a man in a mask, so she ordered Destiny to find guardians for the Trial of Titans. I guess so she could hide some kind of treasure from him there?”

With a little grunt of frustration, he finished, “I don’t know. This thing likes to start stories, but it sure hates finishing them! Do you know what Karenza was trying to protect? Was it really a bunch of gold?”

Patience carefully took the tome from his hands, inspecting it as if it were made of the most brittle glass. She traced her fingertip along its leathery edge before opening it to the first page. Even to her, the page appeared empty.

“The Trial of Titans debacle was a little before my time,” she began. “I understand the project was very important to Karenza, and only her oldest and most trusted followers were to be involved in it. They all took a vow of secrecy, never to speak of its location or what lie inside. All I know about the Trial is what Karenza wrote in our holy book’s scriptures. She penned her original texts in an old language that has been largely forgotten, you see; one that has been translated again and again over time. Things can sometimes get lost in translation…”

She passed the book back to Isaac and continued, “What I’m trying to say is, the word ‘treasure’ is translated to ‘gold’ in many of today’s scriptures. But the language Karenza used in the original was actually quite vague. I cannot tell you what the treasure is, but I can tell you that it may very well be anything.”

Isaac’s eyes rounded. “Could it be a person?”

Patience answered with a shrug, “I don’t see why not. If Destiny was truly was involved with the Trial, she would know far more than I do. If her tome will not speak to you, perhaps you should speak to her in person?”

Scrubbing at his eyes, Isaac sighed, “I wish I could. It’s a long story. But you said there were other people involved with the Trial too, right? Are any of them still alive?”

“I would assume some are. We nymphs can be claimed by many fates, but time is not one of them.” Patience raised a finger. “I will remind you that they’ve all taken a vow of secrecy, however. Perhaps some would break this vow, as many have strayed from Karenza’s light in the past. But the answers you’re looking for have remained a mystery even to scholars and priestesses like myself. You will not find them easily, little one.”

Isaac nodded thoughtfully, falling into silence for a long moment. He felt as if his heart was being strangled in his chest, rapidly swinging between panic, excitement, and disappointment. Was it foolish to pursue this further? Had his quest simply come to an end? If an ancient minervae like Patience—who had known Karenza in person—could not find the answers, then what were Isaac’s chances?

“Hey,” began Itchy, nudging Patience’s arm, “why don’t you take him to the High Priestess? She’s gotta know somethin’ about this too.”

Patience hesitated, her tone meandering with apology when she replied, “Oh, Itchy, you know how busy she is. I’m sorry, but I can’t just—”

“Patience, pleeeease!” The satyr pleaded, crawling into her lap like a child.

Patience fought the smile trying to creep onto her face. “Now don’t start with this. You’re a grown man!”

“Pleeeeease!” Itchy threw his arms around her shoulders in a tight embrace, refusing to let go until he got his way.

The smile broke through Patience’s resolve. She laughed as she tried to pry him away, but he had locked his arms tightly together behind her back. “You’re making a fool of yourself! You haven’t behaved this way since you were a child!” she told him.

“Lassie, I’ll throw myself on the floor and scream if I gotta,” he replied, “but I ain’t gonna disappoint my wife again! She sent me all the way here to find answers for this kid, so please don’t make this whole trip a waste! I had to fly here on a giant, scary bird, y’know!”

“Your wife? Y-you’re married?” Patience gasped.

Itchy let out a sour chuckle. “Crazy, right? You know what’s even crazier? I got kids too! Two of ‘em! Uh, that I know of…I might have a few bastards out there somewhere, but…”

The minervae pressed a hand to her heart. “So my visions did not deceive me! My sweet Itchy, I knew you would reap Karenza’s blessing someday! I just did not know when. That is the true reason I pushed you away from this life all those years ago. I saw love awaiting you in a land far away, lying at the end of a journey you could only make alone. I’m so happy you’ve made it!”

The satyr’s rectangular pupils shrank to paper-thin slits. He scrambled out of her lap and fell to the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “What? Y-you knew? You knew! With that damn eyespot of yours—you _knew_ about Ginger the whole time!” he wailed. “Patience, why didn’t you tell me? I was a bum for fifteen years before I found her!”

“Telling you your fate would not have changed it,” she told him quietly, stooping to pull him upright. “Please forgive me, Itchy. There were many reasons to let you fly—”

Itchy slapped her hand away and spat, “’Let me fly’? You let me crash face-first into the dirt!”

“Are you not flying now?” she queried, gesturing to Isaac.

Pointing his finger again, Itchy spoke through his teeth, “Don’t get cute with me! You abandoned me, and it broke my heart ‘n ruined my nerves! I still wake up achin’ in the middle of the night, from the tips of my fingers to the cheeks of my ass! I get real bad dreams, the kind that make you sweat! And you’re tellin’ me none of that matters, just ‘cause ‘it all worked out’?”

His body trembled, each breath gusting raggedly from his nostrils. Isaac’s black eyes darted anxiously between the minervae and the satyr, and he could only hope Itchy didn’t get them kicked out. But Patience did not seem angry, nor offended. Rather, her expression was heavy with sadness as she pulled the satyr into her embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing, I truly did. I knew it would hurt you, but not like…not like _this_. Please understand, I never peer too deeply into my visions, lest I see something I’d like to forget. I feared knowing what would become of you, for my worries had conjured such a bleak future. I saw that you would fall in love, and I couldn’t bear to see anything more.”

Itchy stared at her, dumbfounded. His furry ears drooped low. Isaac cleared his throat and clarified, “You wanted to believe his story had a happy ending, so you sent him away before your visions could show you otherwise?”

Patience dropped her head in her hands. “It sounds terribly selfish when you put it that way,” she groaned. Lifting her head, she sighed, “But it’s true. I acted selfishly, and Karenza would not approve of my actions one bit. If it’s any comfort, Itchy, I had not lost my patience with you. Perhaps the other priestesses had, but I was still willing to care for you despite your bad behavior, if only I had not been so cowardly. If I could change the past, I would do it all differently. All I can do now is beg for your forgiveness.”

The satyr stood before her, fists clenched and body rigid. He was still quaking with too many emotions, brow knit in anger above sad, glistening eyes. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and decided, “Might as well forgive you. I mean, it still hurts. Probably always will. But what can ya do? Like you said, can’t change the past.”

He tipped his head towards Isaac. “You really wanna make it up to me? Get him in with the High Priestess. That’s all I ask. You’re trying to fill the world with good deeds, right? Well, I’m still tryin’ to break even with my bad ones. Do this for me and I’m one deed closer.”

Though her pink eyes glistened with moisture, the minervae’s smile returned to her face. “I’m so proud of you, Itchy. I’ll see what I can do.” She patted the satyr’s bald head before disappearing through a doorway.

*

Before long, Isaac was escorted into a small room blanketed by ivy. The carpet of leaves crunched under his feet when he stepped inside. There another minervae sat in a chair woven from woody roots, clad in an elegant green dress. Her pink hair spiraled in coils even tighter than his own, shaped into a halo around her head. Patience closed the door behind her when she left, leaving Isaac alone with this woman.

Supposedly, she was the High Priestess of this monastery, which meant she was the oldest and wisest among them. Isaac greeted her with a respectful bow, voice creaking when he greeted, “Um, hi. I had some questions about Karenza.”

The woman regarded him with a reserved smile. “And I have answers, but do make it brief. I have many students to attend to. Students who have _scheduled_ their time with me months prior.”

Suddenly embarrassed, Isaac swiped at his neck and hissed, “I know, I know, I’m sorry to barge in like this! I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important.” He retrieved the Tome of Infinity from his satchel and handed it to her. “A minervae named Destiny gave me her tome a while back. She said it would tell me everything she knows. The other day, it said Destiny was one of the people who worked on the Trial of Titans…”

The High Priestess’s eyes widened, flicking up from the book to Isaac. The mercenary slapped his palms against his chest and continued, “You’re not going to believe this, but I swear on my life, I actually came from the Trial of Titans! A band of mercenaries found me in there seven years ago. I was laying in some kind of casket. They found a bunch of gold too, enough to build a village! Which, uh, they did.”

He raked a hand over his head, pushing his coils out of his face. “I-I don’t know what I was doing in there. I don’t remember anything from before that day! Nothing! I guess my question is…do you think Karenza put me in there? Or—or maybe I wandered in and lost my memory, or…?” he trailed off, staring at her through desperate eyes.

The High Priestess feverishly flipped through Destiny’s tome. Its pages told her nothing, so she snapped it shut and rose to her feet. “Knowledge can be a blessing,” she said. “But in the wrong hands, it can also be a dangerous thing. Destiny made a foolish, _heinous_ mistake by giving you this tome. It should have never touched your mortal hands.”

Brow furrowing, Isaac queried, “What do you mean? It barely told me anything. I used it to save Destiny from a bad situation once, but other than that—”

The minervae interrupted with a quick wave of her hand, “Speak no more, little one. Allow me to take this terrible book off your hands. It will only burden you with things that are far too heavy for your shoulders.”

“High Priestess, wait!” said Isaac, reaching forth. “I don’t want to get rid of it! I want to know about the Trial of Titans! Destiny knows, she was there! So why isn’t it telling me the whole story?”

“It should have told you _nothing_ ,” snapped the High Priestess, jerking the book out of his reach. At her great height, he had no chance of swiping it back. “I can return this to you, or I can remain loyal to Lady Karenza, but I cannot do both. You poor child, I’m so sorry you were mixed up in all this! These are the burdensome affairs of immortals. I needn’t tell you that your time on Gaia is brief. So I urge you to go home, live your simple, mortal life, and forget whatever nonsense you read in this tome.”

Isaac refused. “I want it back,” he said sternly.

“You shall not have it,” she replied with such authority that it turned his spine to jelly.

He held out his palm, voice faltering a little when he asked, “Please? Destiny wanted me to have it. You can’t just steal it from me!”

“Destiny made a grave mistake!” The High Priestess snapped, and then in an instant, the tome burst into flames.

Isaac gasped, recoiling in horror. Her magical flames burned white-hot, blackening the tome in seconds. Its edges curled, its pages went up in smoke, and Isaac could only watch as its ashes crumbled to the floor in a gray, smoking heap.

The High Priestess brushed her hands of it, turning away to hide her tears. Isaac dropped to his knees before the pile of ash. He reached for it, as if he could somehow save the tome, but the heat radiating off the pile was too hot to touch. His gaze flicked up to the minervae. He saw her back jumping, heard her sniffles and quiet sobs.

“You killed her,” he croaked. She said nothing, so he shot back to his feet and gave her a shove. “You killed her! You killed Destiny!” he snarled.

The minervae barely budged under his force. She simply turned to him, brown cheeks gleaming with tear tracks, and said, “I would only ever take a life to spare another, little one. Now go. Stop seeking knowledge that was never meant for you and go turn gray among your fellow mortals. There is nothing for you here.”

Isaac’s mouth opened, teeth bared, fist raised. But he could not find the words to shout, and he could not find the strength to strike. He felt tears welling in his own eyes and swiped them away with a loud, furious growl. He kicked the door open and stormed out into the corridor.

*

“Even with all my visions, I never would have guessed you’d be a confectioner someday!” said Patience. She and Itchy sat together in the main hall, sipping tea from delicate cups.

“Me neither,” Itchy replied between sips. “I was a bootlegger before that. Then I thought to myself, ‘I can make ‘shine. I can make candy. Why ain’t I crammin’ the ‘shine into the candy?’ I get the law off my back and soldiers get to booze it up on the job. Everyone wins!”

Patience smiled. “Well, I suppose all that mischief you pulled in your youth didn’t go to waste after all. You’ve always been a creative soul.”

“If nothin’ else,” added Itchy, knocking back the last of his tea.

After a pause, Patience faced him and asked, “It seems life is treating you well these days. Are you happy, Itchy?”

The satyr thought about it for a moment, stroking his scraggly beard. He smiled back at her and answered, “You know what? I _am_ happy! I might bitch ‘n moan, but I don’t mean it. Not really. At the end of the day, I a roof over my head, two great kids, and the prettiest wife in town. What more could a satyr want? Wasn’t that long ago I didn’t even have a pot to piss in!”

Before Patience could reply, Isaac shoved the door open and shouted, “Come on, Itchy! We’re leaving, now!” The priestesses let out yelps of fright, startled out of their meditation. One of them fell into the pool with a splash.

Patience and Itchy quickly stood up, facing him as he rushed towards the satyr. He grabbed Itchy’s wrist, began pulling him towards the door, but Itchy jerked away and eclaimed, “What’s the rush? And what’s the matter with your eyes? Are you cryin’?”

“We need to go! These people are crazy!” Isaac growled through his teeth, eyes still sparkling with tears. His fists quaked with anger and fear.

“Isaac, what happened? Did you speak with the High Priestess?” asked Patience. A deep wrinkle of concern had carved itself between her brows.

Isaac stamped his foot and shouted, “Yeah, I spoke with her! Then she stole Destiny’s tome, set it on fire, and killed her! That woman killed Destiny! She’s a maniac!” He thrusted his finger towards the open doorway he’d come from.

Patience brought her hands to her mouth, eyes rounding in shock. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but no words would come. Itchy, too, was petrified as Isaac snatched his wrist again and dragged him towards the exit. They made it down the corridor and through the front door, then Isaac shoved his fingers in his mouth and let out a long, sharp whistle.

“Shadow! Let’s go!” he called, letting out several more urgent whistles before a great, dark mass briefly blotted out the sun. The roc swirled around the area until she found a suitable place to land atop the church. Townsfolk screamed and fled the block as she climbed down the building. Her talons hit the dirt road with a ground-quaking thump.

Patience appeared in the doorway, trailed by the other priestesses. They watched as Isaac snatched a golden scythe out of Shadow’s beak. He often left it with her for safe keeping, for he couldn’t think of a more intimidating guard. Who else but him would try to snatch it from her?

When he did, a round of gasps swelled over the crowd of Karenza’s followers. They whispered and muttered to one another,

“That scythe!”

“Is that truly…?”

“It can’t be!”

Isaac ignored them and climbed into Shadow’s saddle, dragging Itchy along with him. The satyr struggled to clamber up the leather harness. Shadow must have left the gazebo back in the outskirts, and with any luck, it would still be uninhabited by vagrants when they returned.

“Well, uh, I guess we’re outta here,” said Itchy, waving to Patience below. “Thanks for everything, lassie! And sorry for…whatever happened in there.” He pointed his jaw towards the building.

The High Priestess pushed through the crowd until she stood at the edge of the doorstep. Her gaze shifted to the scythe in Isaac’s hand. She briefly covered her mouth with shock, then exclaimed, “Gods, no!”

“What? You got something you want to tell me all of a sudden?” barked Isaac.

The High Priestess ushered the others back inside. Turning back to him, she closed the door behind them and replied, “I will tell you that the weapon you hold is cursed beyond all measure! I am a fae creature, and I could not lie to you even if I wished to! What I say is the truth! You must surrender that wretched thing to me at once!”

“Why? So you can destroy it like you destroyed Destiny’s tome?” the mercenary spat.

Dropping to one knee, the High Priestess clasped her hands together and begged, “I ask this of you not for my benefit, but for your own! You may never understand this, but what I did to poor Destiny will ensure that you live a long, happy life! But only if you surrender that scythe and give up this hopeless quest of yours!”

They locked eyes for a long, silent moment. Giving Isaac a nudge, Itchy whispered, “Just give her the damn thing! The High Priestess ain’t never steered anyone wrong. She’s a good woman. Smart as a whip. You can trust her.”

“Please, Isaac,” begged the High Priestess. Emotion trembled her voice. Another silence passed between them, then Isaac strapped the scythe to Shadow’s saddle.

“I never gave you my name,” he said. “Whatever Destiny knows, I think you know it too. I think you know _me_ , don’t you?”

The minervae’s jaw dropped. She quickly closed it, saying nothing more. The look on her face said it all, but Isaac knew better. He wouldn’t get a shred of information out of her at this point unless, perhaps, he threatened it out of her with his cursed scythe to her throat. But he refused to stoop to her level, to take an innocent life for his own benefit.

There were others like her, those involved with the Trial of Titans, who must have known his name and where he’d come from. He knew because Patience told him so, and like the High Priestess, she could not tell lies.

He whipped Shadow’s reins with a click of his tongue. The bird began to ascend and a great plume of dust was kicked up in her wake. The High Priestess coughed, shielding her eyes with her arm. She peeked through the haze, watching helplessly as the mercenary disappeared into the sky.

Itchy clung to Isaac’s waist. He shouted over the wind, “What happened in there? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Isaac shouted back. “That High Priestess told me to stop asking questions and then she burned Destiny’s tome right there in front of me! She knows something about me, Itchy, but she’s not going to talk! Patience said there’s more followers who worked on the Trial, so you need to take me to Karenza’s other churches until we find them!”

“What?” the satyr’s eyes bugged.

“You said there were a bunch of them down in Serkel! That’s not even far from here, a few hours at most!”

Shadow descended in an open clearing of grass where the gazebo awaited. Itchy slid down her back, then Shadow climbed onto the roof while he opened the door. He jumped in surprise, and so too did the strange, filthy elf sitting inside.

“Get outta here, ya fuckin’ bum!” crowed Itchy, and the stranger scurried off into the forest. Before he stepped inside, Itchy called up to Isaac, “I’ll take you _one_ monastery in Yerim-Mor Capital, but that’s it! If they don’t got answers, we’re done! You caused enough trouble with these people as it is. We’ll be lucky if Karenza herself doesn’t track us down and waggle her divine finger at us!”

“I hope she does! She owes me more answers than anyone!” said Isaac, and once again, they took off into the sky.

*

Shadow touched down in the dry, sandy city of Yerim-Mor Capital just before nightfall. Half of the city lie in ruins, the other half barely holding itself together. The skyline was as jagged and yellow as Itchy’s crowded teeth.

“Taybiya’s a daycare compared to this city,” Itchy warned as Isaac dismounted the roc. “People won’t just rob you here. They’ll rob you, skin you alive, then eat you for dinner! I say we get an inn room and wait until morning. Bad idea to be walkin’ around this place at night.”

“I’m not worried,” said Isaac, pulling his scythe from Shadow’s saddle. He carried it with him as they walked across the sandy outskirts to the city proper. The main road snaked through sprawling shantytowns, humming with life. The stench of the nearby river was overpowering, sour with sewage and corpses. The air was thick with smoke as peasants burned trash and cooked scraps of food over the fires.

Itchy kept his head low, refusing the meet the many eyes staring them down. Isaac regarded them with stares of his own, knuckles turning white around the handle of his scythe.

“Quit lookin’ at ‘em!” Itchy hissed, slapping the mercenary’s arm.

“Why not?”

“You just don’t do that here, it’s rude! Folks are gonna think you’re looking for a fight.”

Isaac took the satyr’s word for it and averted his gaze. After a moment, he pulled the neck of his shirt over his nose and groaned, “Ugh, is that the river? It smells so bad! What’s wrong with it?”

Itchy shrugged and told him, “Folks shit in it.”

Glancing at the riverside, Isaac noticed children playing in the fetid water without a care. “They should probably shit somewhere else,” he said.

“Like where? Ain’t no sewers anymore, not since Matuzu sacked the place.”

“Then they should all shit in a wagon and send it to King Matuzu’s doorstep,” decided Isaac, eyes burning in the haze of smoke.

Itchy let out a hearty laugh. “Listen to ya! If you can get passed the smell, I think you’ll get along just fine in the Green Kingdom!” After a pause, he added, “I spent a lot of time down here when I was your age. Karenza’s people work hard on this kingdom. Trust me, this whole city would be a pile of rocks ‘n bones if no one showed up to help.”

He nudged the mercenary and continued, “That’s why love’s important. You gotta care about other people, else what’s the point of living? The priestesses taught me how to care. Before I met Patience, I didn’t care about no one. Not even myself. I was just another soulless chunk of meat, no life in me at all.”

“Maybe you should go back. You could still serve Karenza as a priest, couldn’t you?”

“Karenza doesn’t want people to serve her, she wants us to serve eachother,” Itchy told him. “They make that real clear in the scriptures. I’m not cut out to be a priest anyway. I serve my family, that’s it. That’s the only reason I’m walking through this godforsaken city after sunfall with the likes of you! I do it ‘cause I love my wife and I don’t want to let her down anymore.”

Isaac’s lips curved into a tight smile. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, “but I always thought you were kind of a bastard. You have a big ol’ heart in there after all, don’t you?”

“Hey, hey, don’t start thinking I’m soft or anything! I could still bury you, kiddo, so don’t try me!” snapped Itchy, shaking a finger in Isaac’s face.

Isaac laughed, “I wasn’t saying that! See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about! You always act so tough and mean, but you’re not really like that at all, huh?”

Itchy sighed, “I don’t _wanna_ be like that. But I’ll tell ya something: you spent enough time in a place like Taybiya, or a place like _this_ …” He gestured at the ruins around them. “…and you don’t have a choice. If you ain’t scarier than the next guy, that guy’s gonna shank you in your sleep and steal your stuff.” He paused, then added. “That’s what happens when people ain’t taught how to love eachother. If Karenza had her way, nobody would be shankin’ anyone for anything. We’d just share what we had, know what I mean?”

Isaac looked around at the desperate state of the city. “It looks like there’s not enough to go around.”

The satyr stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at the mercenary. “Then you ain’t lookin’ hard enough, kid! The kings are up there in their castles, shittin’ in gold pots and wipin’ their asses with silk. Meanwhile, everyone else is washin’ where they squat! These fat bastards got enough gold to feed ‘em all until the Serkel Desert freezes over, so don’t ever say there ain’t enough! That’s just what they want you to think!”

He jabbed his finger against Isaac’s chest before continuing along the path. Isaac raised his palms in surrender, following him until they reached a great stone fortress. It stood three stories tall, fenced off and strangely isolated as if some terrible plague awaited inside. Where other buildings in the capital were packed together as tightly as possible, the fortress was surrounded by a wide perimeter of sandy, undisturbed ground.

Each window was small and blocked off by metal bars, the amber glass too opaque to see inside. Only the warm glow of lights shined through. The area was deathly quiet. The fortress itself was unremarkable in design, rather run-down like the rest of the city. Like the House in Taybiya, Isaac would have guessed it was a military fort rather than a house of worship.

Itchy and Isaac travelled up the dusty path to the front door. It was made of stone and carved with worn imagery of soaring rocs. There was no handle and seemingly no way to open it. A heavy brass bell dangled on a string just beside it, which Itchy rang vigorously as he called, “Let us in, ladies! It’s dark out here and the lowlifes are hungry! Come on, come on, I know ya saw us comin’!”

Isaac jumped when the door made a loud clunking sound. Then it slowly began to slide open from the side, revealing a dim corridor beyond. Itchy took Isaac by the wrist and pulled him inside. The mercenary jumped again when the door slammed shut behind them, then jumped a third time when a feminine voice boomed, “This is a place of peace. Please lay your weapon down.”

Candles flickered in their sconces along the stone walls, lighting the corridor in their dim glow. Isaac turned all around, but he could see no one else except Itchy. To the empty air he replied, “Trust me, you don’t want this thing just lying around. It’s safer with me.”

He sheathed the scythe in the harness on his back, holding his palms up to show he meant no harm. “I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise. I came here all the way from Noalen, and I have questions about the Divine of Love. My friend here says you can help me.”

He pointed his chin towards Itchy, standing beside him. A long silence passed. Isaac wondered if the voice had even heard him, but just as he was about to repeat himself, a minervae appeared in the corridor. Isaac blinked in surprise, for she had somehow stepped through the solid wall as if it were fog. The stone rippled as she did, and he realized this corridor must have been some kind of magical illusion.

Perhaps the entire fortress was an illusion.

The minervae’s skin was as dark and rich as Isaac’s own, contrasting with the light cotton garb draped around her. The top of her head was covered by a sheer veil that wrapped around her neck and spilled down her shoulders. Her outfit was as simple as any local peasant’s, complete with makeshift sandals of wood and rope upon her feet.

Her pink eyes flicked from Isaac’s scythe down to Itchy. “Oh, it’s you! Our little helper from Taybiya! I hardly recognized you,” she said.

“Yep, it’s me,” replied Itchy, patting his protruding gut. “Not so little anymore, huh? Nice to see you again, Wisdom. Can you give this boy a hand so I can go home?”

Wisdom’s gaze shifted back to Isaac. She hesitated before introducing herself, “Er, hello. I am Wisdom, High Priestess of this monastery. It’s rather late for a visit, don’t you think?”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but this really can’t wait until morning. Thanks for letting us in,” Isaac replied, extending his hand for a shake.

The minervae drew her hands up, taking a step back as if he were made of flame. Isaac saw the golden crescent of his scythe reflecting in her wide, anxious eyes. “Forgive me,” she said, “it’s just that, that weapon of yours, it’s—it’s…”

“It’s cursed. I know,” Isaac replied bluntly.

“You surely don’t know the extent of this curse, child. Such a thing should never touch mortal hands! It would be in everyone’s best interest if you surrendered it to me. I am a sworn servant of the Divine of Love, an agent of peace, and I cannot speak untruths. That cursed object is far safer in my hands than in yours.”

“I ripped this thing away from the Divine of Hate himself, okay?” Isaac told her. “I know what it’s capable of, and I know what that divine is capable of if he gets a hold of it again. I mean no offense, but it stays with me.”

Wisdom’s expression hardened, seemingly in pain. “Very well. I haven’t the courage to take it from you,” she admitted, folding her hands before her. “You gave us quite a scare, approaching with that scythe. The watchmen thought you were an agent of Mankind’s Disgrace. But we minervae can sense things that mortals cannot, and I did not sense his wicked desires within you. I thought, perhaps, you were coming to turn over his scythe to us…”

Isaac shook his head. “Sorry. I know I probably should, but…” he sighed, raking his sandy curls out of his eyes. “Look, I came here because I need answers. I want to know about the Trial of Titans.”

“The Trial of Titans?” Wisdom cocked her head. “Where did you hear of such a thing?”

The truth paused on Isaac’s tongue. “Uh, just some old book,” he answered vaguely. “It didn’t tell me much. All I know is: it’s a big, crazy dungeon full of titan nymphs, that only good people can see it, and there’s some kind of treasure at the end…”

“Then you know all you are meant to know,” said Wisdom. Her words were tight with finality, and Isaac could already tell that getting information from her was going to be another struggle. She knew more than she was letting on. She knew, and like the other priestesses he’d encountered so far, she did not want to tell.

He pointed a finger at her and said, “Karenza made that dungeon to protect something. You know what it is, and you have to tell me!”

“I am sworn to Lady Karenza. I am not obliged to share her secrets with anyone,” the minervae replied. Her demeanor was calm, but her eyes carried all the anxiousness of a caged animal.

Itchy groaned, “Wisdom, please! Whatever you know, just blab now and beg forgiveness later! I gotta get home, my hernias are actin’ up and I got a long, terrible flight ahead of me!”

With an apologetic frown, Wisdom told him, “Little Helper, you know I cannot. I would so like to help you, and I would tell you everything you want to know if not for my convictions. But some knowledge is forbidden, and I promise it is for good reason.”

Isaac suddenly whipped the scythe off his back, knuckles white around its handle. He glared directly at Wisdom and growled, “You know who I am!”

Itchy crowed, “Woah, woah! Are you nuts? Put that away!” He reached for the scythe, then quickly thought better of it and backed away instead.

The minervae stood rigid, hands still folded before her. “Killing me won’t bring you any closer to the answers you seek. You know it will only drive you further from the truth.”

Itchy could hear each breath gusting from the mercenary’s nostrils. Isaac was becoming more upset, more desperate by the second. Tears sparkled in his eyes and he blinked them away. His chest strained to hold back childish sobs of defeat.

“You will not hurt me, Isaac,” Wisdom said quietly. “You gentle heart will not allow it.”

Isaac closed his eyes tightly, gnashing his teeth with a growl. He wiped the tears off his face with his sleeve, ashamed of his pathetic sniffling when he said, “I never gave you my name. All you minervae know it, but I never gave it to a single one of you! You’re all connected to Karenza somehow, and apparently, so am I. You can’t dangle my past in front of me forever. This is cruel! Doesn’t Karenza hate that sort of thing? Doesn’t she want you to help people?”

Another silence passed between them. Itchy’s fingers were tangled in his unruly hair, eyes shifting back and forth between minervae and mercenary, eagerly awaiting chaos to break out.

Instead, Wisdom stepped forward and said, “Listen closely. We minervae may be immortal, but we are no divines. Death does not wait for us, for we do not expire with time. Death hunts us like animals, and should it strike us down, Karenza’s secrets will die with us. Only from the undying will you receive your answers.”

Isaac lowered his scythe, brow wrinkling in thought. He concluded slowly, “The undying? You’re saying I should…ask a divine? Like, Karenza herself?”

“I said exactly what I said,” replied Wisdom. “Interpret my words as you may.”

Her lips stretched into a reluctant smile. There was some kind of nervous energy hiding behind her eyes, perhaps a veil of fear and regret. Isaac then realized that she was not antagonizing him, she was _helping_ him. Or at least trying to, carefully maneuvering around her convictions to do so.

Her motives were lost on him, but he didn’t care anyway. He felt he was on the right path now, if only he could clear one last obstacle...

“Where can I find her?” he asked.

Wisdom replied, “I’m sorry, but I truly know not. No one really does except for those currently in her company. Karenza hides away in the Ethereal Temple, you see. The temple is kept aloft by my most powerful sisters, and they may not rest even for a moment, lest the Divine of Hate find them.”

“So he really has a problem with Karenza, then?”

“Oh, yes. Their feud is older than any minervae, and not one of us knows exactly how it all began. The Divine of Hate wishes to destroy her and everything that she’s blessed. If he had it his way, all of Gaia would be a blood-soaked wasteland! He thrives in times of misery, that much we know of him.”

Isaac looked down at the weapon in his hands. Its golden blade reflected his weary face. “I see,” he muttered. “Thank you. I’m sorry for scaring you, Wisdom. I-I didn’t mean it, I just…”

“I told you, that is a cursed thing,” the minervae repeated, holding out her palm. “You may still surrender it to me, and I will see that it never harms another so long as I live.”

Isaac chewed his lip as he considered it. Perhaps it would be safer with her. But if that was so, why was _he_ the one to rip it from Disgrace’s clutches? Where was she when the Divine of Hate was rampaging through Matuzu Capital?

“I can’t,” he decided, affixing it to his harness once again. “There’s something I need to do with it first.”

“And that is…?”

“I’m gonna slay the Divine of Hate.”

Wisdom jumped a little, bringing her fingertips to her mouth. “Please, do not say such things aloud,” she whispered.

With newfound confidence, Isaac queried, “Why not? I beat him down twice now and I’ll do it again! Hear that, Disgrace? If you want me, come get me!” He tossed his arms out to his sides, shouting up into the shadowy abyss above.

“Shut it, you moron!” hissed Itchy, socking him in the shoulder.

Wisdom raised her index fingers and warned, “The Serkel Desert is his domain. He has much influence here, so be wary of prying eyes and listening ears. You would not know his thralls from a peasant on the street. You should fear them as much as you fear Disgrace himself.”

Isaac turned, heading back towards the door. It began to slide open as he approached. “I don’t fear him. I fear _this_ , but he doesn’t have it anymore,” he told her, raising his cursed scythe. “I’m going to find Karenza, I’m going to help her destroy this guy, and I’m going to get answers.”

With that, he stepped out into the night. Itchy wrapped Wisdom in a tight hug before rushing after him. Wisdom watched them disappear, her voice barely a whisper above the rumble of the closing door.

“May you prove my decision wise.”

*

Isaac and Itchy trudged through the door of the inn room. It was too late and they were too tired to make the journey home just yet, so they decided to rent a cheap, dingy room in the heart of Yerim-Mor Capital.

The splintery floorboards creaked under their feet, bugs scattering when Isaac struck a match and lit a half-melted candle on the table. Their accommodations were but two bedrolls on the floor with hay spilling out of their seams. A table stood between the bedrolls, and there was a single, small window above it. Isaac peeked through the cracked glass and saw only the side of the neighboring building, standing close enough to touch with his fingertips.

“If I didn’t already have fleas, I’d be real upset right now,” mentioned Itchy, shaking the debris off his bedroll before flopping down on it.

Isaac told him, “It’s just for one night. We’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon, I promise.” He shrugged off his harness and leaned the cursed scythe against the wall. Sitting on his bedroll, he began pulling off his boots and added, “Thanks, by the way. I won’t ever forget this.”

“That’s right, remember this trip next time I need a favor!” the satyr blurted. “You see me behind bars for whatever reason, you better bust me out. You owe me big time! What was that back there anyway? Raising a weapon at a priestess of love, are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I didn’t mean to, okay? I got really upset a-and nervous, and—”

“So you threatened to destroy her soul? What on Gaia’s wrong with you, boy?” Itchy snapped. He pitched his stained pillow at the mercenary. “I think that scythe’s getting to your head. You pick up that thing and suddenly you think you’re invincible, like you can just swing it around and get your way. You’re lucky we didn’t get murdered on the way here, talkin’ all that crap like you were!”

“Give me a break, will you? It’s been a rough couple of days for me…” groaned Isaac.

“For you? Ha!” Itchy folded his arms behind his head, crossing one furry leg over the other. “Good night, you little psychopath. Sure hope I don’t wake up dead.”

With a roll of his eyes, Isaac sunk down into the scratchy bedroll. His actions today would haunt him through the night and beyond. What had come over him? There was only so much grief a person could take, he reasoned. Destiny was dead. He had watched one of her own sisters murder her right in front of him for reasons no one was willing to explain.

The Taybiyan High Priestess must have killed Destiny because he pried too far into Karenza’s secrets. Isaac knew her death was his fault, yet he was still pursuing this mystery. How many more would die for the answers he sought? Was it really worth all this chaos? His head ached and his stomach turned. Isaac writhed in a fitful sleep that night, plagued by every worrisome thought his brain could throw at him.

He dreamed of stormy skies again. He stood in a ruined garden among flaming plants and crumbling statues, watching the vortex of blood-red clouds swirl above. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, paralyzing him with fear. Though Isaac knew he should run for cover, he could not even blink, for his body had become like stone. A menacing figure fell out of the sky and sped towards him. It was as black and formless as smoke.

Isaac awoke with a gasp just as the figure consumed him. His chest heaved with each inhalation, his clothes damp with sweat. His eyes darted around for danger, but all he saw was a filthy inn room and Itchy snoring away on the floor beside him. The mercenary squinted, shielding his eyes from the light beaming in through the window.

The sun had just poked its head over the dunes. It was time to go home.

They packed their bags and found Shadow on the outskirts where they left her, nestled into a hole she’d dug in the sand. She’d made herself right at home in her natural region. Isaac bought a haunch of meat from a market stall on the way over, a camel’s thigh that weighed half as much as himself. Shadow gulped it down with one snap of her beak, and then they were soaring back to Noalen.

Shadow touched down in Drifter’s Hollow late in the afternoon, landing in the open arena of dirt the mercenaries used for combat training. Isaac groaned as he slid out of her saddle. He spit the bugs out of his teeth and rubbed his aching legs. Itchy stumbled out of the gazebo and immediately headed down the path towards his house. Before he disappeared, he pointed back to Isaac and called, “Don’t forget! You owe me!”

Isaac regarded him with a dismissive wave, then began removing Shadow’s harness. Once all the buckles were undone, her saddle and bridle hit the ground. The roc was quick to wander away after that, pushing her way through the forest in search of food.

Isaac tossed her equipment into the gazebo and left it in the arena. He was too exhausted to put it away where it belonged, and instead headed into the dining hall for a rest. He saw smoke rising from the chimney, smelled all manner of hot food in the air. A crowd of crewmen and villagers greeted him when he stepped inside.

“Hey, the squeaker’s back!” announced Glenvar, raising his stein high. He was seated around the long table, where others were bustling back and forth to prepare dinner.

Isaac collapsed in a creaky chair and swiped a piece of bread from a nearby basket. The bread could have been spotted with mold and he still would’ve eaten it, for he hadn’t filled his stomach since sunrise.

Evan approached with a heavy pot of stew in his hands. He set it on the table and asked, “How was the trip? Find what you were looking for?”

Isaac chewed the bread longer than necessary, for he didn’t know quite how to answer that. Finally, he swallowed the bite and mumbled, “Destiny’s dead.”

Evan cocked his head. So too did everyone else within earshot, the others still chatting and bustling around them. “What? What happened?” asked Evan, taking a seat beside him.

“I don’t even want to get into it,” groaned Isaac. He peeled off his leather gloves and rubbed his hands over his face. “Long story short, the minervae are part of some conspiracy with Karenza. They know who I am, but none of them are allowed to tell me. I think…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I think Destiny told me too much. One of them took her tome and burned it to ashes right in front of me.”

Evan’s brows arched, silent mouth agape. Alaine leaned forward and blurted, “So, what now? Are we just gonna let them get away with this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Lukas, sitting across from her. “We are _not_ going to piss off the minervae! It’s not worth it.”

Isaac said, “You’re right, it’s not. The minervae can’t help me even if they wanted to, so I’m going to track down Karenza herself.”

His crewmen fell silent, exchanging glances. Clearing his throat, Evan told him, “I, er, did some research about her while you were gone. I read that she’s been hiding away on an island high in the sky. Her servants use magic to keep this island moving, and she hasn’t been seen in public for centuries. It sounds like she doesn’t want to be found.”

“Well, I’m gonna find her anyway. I have to, or else I’ll never know who or what I really am,” insisted Isaac. He began casually spooning stew into a bowl.

“Isaac, people have dedicated their whole lives to finding this woman and died unsuccessful,” mentioned Lukas. “What makes you think this is anything but a fool’s quest?”

Isaac swept his hand around the table and snapped, “You guys found the Trial of Titans, didn’t you? They say people died searching for that thing too, but you all just wandered in by mistake and _still_ walked away with the treasure!”

Voice harried, he continued, “Karenza built that dungeon to protect something, but I don’t think it was just gold. The tome said she had a child, and that child wasn’t safe with her. That letter from the sorceress—don’t you remember what it said? It said I wasn’t safe with her! That’s why she wanted you guys to take me in!” His spoon clattered on the table when he suddenly dropped it, slapping his palms against his chest. “Guys, _I’m_ Karenza’s child! I have to be! Right? W-why else would I be in that dungeon?”

“It certainly seems that way,” Evan began slowly, scratching at his stubbled chin. “But everyone knows divines can’t have children. If Karenza created you, that would make you…well, some kind of _monster_. And we all know that isn’t the case! Do you remember the first night you were in our company? Alaine played a song on her lute and you began to dance all on your own.”

“You also drew on the walls,” muttered Lukas, sipping milk from a glass.

Evan added, “Right, see? Music, art, all things creative are lost on those without souls. You couldn’t possibly be a divine’s monster, much less their child. It simply isn’t possible.”

“All is possible with magic,” croaked a cecaelian voice. The mercenaries turned and saw Mr. Ocean sitting a few seats down. He was hunched over a plate of fish, apparently eavesdropping on their conversation.

Alaine sighed, “You’re not helping, Ocean…”

“Sorry,” the cecaelia apologized and quickly returned to his meal.

“What if he’s right? Maybe Karenza used magic to have a child?” Isaac suggested, eyes sparkling with hope.

But Jeimos told him, “Even magic has rules, Izzy. I know it’s said that the very nature of magic is to defy logic, but it also defies logic by contradicting itself. It’s all very complicated. You are a mysterious little bugger, no one can deny that. But to think you’re the son of a _divine_ , well…” The elf stifled a chuckle. “It sounds quite arrogant, don’t you think? Kings and nobles have claimed the same about themselves, but we all know they dropped from mortal wombs just like the rest of us.”

Glenvar added, “Life’s full of mysteries, kiddo. No one gets to know everything. Me? I don’t know what my daddy’s face looks like, and I ain’t ever gonna know. Doesn’t bother me.” He raised his stein to his lips, gulping down a long swig of beer. “Ya might never know yer ma, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that. Don’t waste yer life chasin’ this shite, it ain’t worth it. Drink some mead ‘n forget about it!”

Isaac fell silent, staring into his bowl. He was suddenly very aware of the scythe weighing down on his spine. He pulled it out of its harness and leaned it against the wall behind him. He trusted everyone in this dining hall not to misuse it, for they all knew what it was capable of. They scarcely wanted to touch the cursed thing, always giving it a wide berth wherever it lie.

After a moment, Isaac sighed, “I can’t. It’s not even a choice. I _need_ to do this. I need to know who I—”

Feredil interrupted him with a piercing shriek, dropping a tray of cookies. In a flash she leaped onto the table, pointing her shaking finger at the floor. The mercenaries broke out into shouts and murmurs, finally noticing the source of her fear. A little scorpion was crawling across the room, its chitin body as spiny as an urchin and red as an apple.

“That’s a red dune-spiker! No one touch it, it’s terribly venomous!” wailed Feredil.

“It’s headin’ fer the door!” shouted Glenvar.

“Kill it, kill it! Don’t let it get away!” urged Jeimos, gray smoke bursting from their mouth with each word.

Balthazaar acted before anyone, swiping his heavy glass stein and pitching it towards the scorpion. Isaac dived forward as soon as he saw him reach for the stein, shielding the little creature with his body. The stein crashed against Isaac’s ribs and the young mercenary cried out in pain, dropping his forehead to the floor. He cracked an eye open and saw the scorpion staring him in the face with its many eyes.

“Isaac, get away from it!” shouted Lukas. Isaac refused, carefully cupping the scorpion in his hands.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Isaac assured them. “Don’t hurt it, please! This is my fault. It probably hitched a ride in my bag or something.”

“That scorpion can kill an ogre with one sting! Please, just crush it!” begged Feredil, still quivering atop the table. Balthazaar pulled her down into his arms and she clung to him tightly.

“I’m not killing it! That’s not fair,” decided Isaac. He kept the creature sealed between his hands as he began walking towards the door. “I’ll put it in a jar and bring it with me next time I’m in Serkel. I can release it into the desert where there’s no people around. No harm, no foul.”

Before Isaac disappeared, Evan shouted after him, “You have to comb that luggage better, son! I don’t want any more surprises, you hear me?”

Isaac rolled his eyes and carried the scorpion back to his tiny shack not far from the dining hall. He rifled through his snack chest until he found a jar of pickles. There were only two left, so he quickly ate them, then rinsed the jar and filled it with sand, rocks, and a stick for good measure.

“Sorry, buddy. I know smells like pickles and it’s not as good as home,” he said, dropping the scorpion inside, “but you’ll be safe here ‘til we get you back to the desert. No more hitchhiking, okay?” He stabbed air holes into the lid with a dagger. With nowhere better to put it, he placed it the jar on the floor near his bedroll. The scorpion frantically circled its cell, spidery legs slipping against the glass as it tried to escape.

Isaac looked upon the creature with pity. He wondered if the minervae looked at him the same way, regarding him as nothing more than a lost, scared little insect that knew nothing about where it was or how it came to be there. That was certainly how he felt anyway.

*

Isaac spent an entire day combing Evan’s bookshelf for information about Karenza. He read all the relevant texts he could find, but they only left him wanting more. The day after that, he headed to Gwyneth’s market first thing in the morning. The long grasses lining the path were coated in frost, damp leaves squishing under his boots. He saw Olof just ahead, clearing the path with a long rake, and waved.

“Good morning, friend,” the centaur greeted.

“’Morning! Looks like you’re busy today.”

Olof looked back at the long stretch of road he’d already cleared, then at the even longer stretch ahead. He sighed, “Yes. Frederick is supposed to be helping me, but he decided to run off and play in the forest instead.”

“Want me to go get him?”

Shaking his head, Olof replied, “Do not waste your time. I will ask Ms. Elska to speak with him later. He disobeys everyone but her!”

“I don’t blame him,” Isaac chuckled. “Glen said some drunken slop to her the other day and she tossed him like a sack of potatoes. I’ve never seen a fat guy fly like that!”

A fond smile crossed Olof’s face. “Ah, she is a strong woman in so many ways. But I will trouble you with my problems no more. Thank you, my friend.”

“Any time,” said Isaac, and he continued on his path to the market.

Brogan was still setting up the stalls when he arrived. Gwyneth leaned on the counter nearby, counting stacks of coins. The elf shot Isaac a glance. “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

“I’m looking for books,” explained Isaac. “Do you have anything about the Divine of Love? Whatever you got, I’ll take it all! Just put it on Evan’s tab.”

“Books, huh?” Gwyneth stood up straight, nodding towards a box to her right. “We have a few used ones in there, but literature just don’t sell in this dump. The hicks in this village can barely spell their own names!” She slid a fat, worn catalog across the counter. A notepad and pencil rested on top. “There’s a decent selection in the catalog though. Write down what you want and I’ll order it for you. Shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks.”

Isaac thanked her and began flipping through the pages, scribbling down anything of interest in the notepad. By the end of the hour, he left the market and decided to seek out Balthazaar’s wife, Feredil. She was a native of the Serkel Desert, so perhaps she would know something about these mysterious divines, he thought.

He entered the boarding house. It was the oldest and shoddiest building in the compound, simply a large wooden box with a few tiny rooms and a common area. It was drafty and leaky and in constant need of repair, for it was never meant to be a permanent fixture in the first place. Most of the crew had since moved out and built their own houses, but a few of them still called the old boarding house “home”.

Their reasons were their own, and Isaac considered it none of his business anyway. He was just thankful to have his own house, for as cramped as it was, it was warm and built with care.

He found Feredil in the common area, sweeping the old floorboards. Before he could greet her, she said, “Balthazaar just left for a job. He should be back tomorrow.”

Isaac cleared his throat and replied, “Oh, uh, I’m not looking for him. I actually wanted to talk to _you_ about something.”

Feredil stopped sweeping, cocking her head at him. “Me?”

“You grew up in Duali, right?” asked Isaac, taking a seat at the wooden table. “I heard the Divine of Love has a lot of influence in that area. Do you know anything about her?”

Feredil leaned the broom against the wall. “Ah, I know only a little. My family wasn’t very spiritual. They worshipped only gold…” She shook her shaven head slightly, heavy gold earrings swinging to and fro. “But I knew many people who followed her teachings, or at least tried their best. Believe it or not, there was a time when Yerim-Mor Kingdom was a peaceful place. People preached the scriptures loudly from the streets.”

Sitting in the chair across from him, she continued, “Then Matuzu Kingdom invaded. They mined all the gold from the Sunglow River without a care, which completely _ruined_ the kingdom’s water supply. It destroyed crops and led to a terrible war. People blamed the Divine of Hate for inciting this war, and they blamed the Divine of Love for luring him to the region. The people became sick and destitute, and after that, they were afraid to even speak her name.”

“They really think the Divine of Hate started that war?” asked Isaac.

Feredil shrugged. “Kingdom officials will tell you otherwise, but the people believe with all their hearts that he was to blame. Personally, I don’t care who’s responsible. All I know is that my family lost all their factories in the aftermath, and in the blink of an eye, we joined the peasantry in the slums. I was forced to marry Balthazaar or else starve to death.”

“Woah! Really?” Isaac leaned back in his chair, eyes rounding. “I didn’t know all that! I’m so sorry. Um, I hope things are better here in the Hollow. I know it’s not perfect, but…”

The elf waved her hand and said, “This backwater village is a paradise compared to what Yerim-Mor Kingdom has become. Monarch Rozz is a coward, letting the Matuzans walk all over us like this! They stole our land, set up their factories, and still haven’t left. There is no place for us native Morites anymore. If I returned today, I would be treated like a second-class citizen.”

Isaac slowly nodded, piecing together all the information he’d gathered so far. The pieces were beginning to form a picture, an intricate mural that told a story. But large chunks of the picture were still missing, and he simply couldn’t understand the story without them.

“That’s why all the churches look like fortresses then,” he muttered. “People there must really hold a grudge against Karenza.”

“Oh, they won’t even speak her name! I think most wish no ill will towards her, they’re just afraid to acknowledge her at all. But there are others who seek to wipe all of her influence from the kingdom. Every day you’d hear about terrorists attacking a church or murdering a priest or some such thing.”

Feredil reached across the table, taking his hands in her own. “I heard about this quest of yours, and I beg you to reconsider. All this chaos in the name of divines! That whole region is a mess. Millions lie dead from the violence and dysfunction. If you pursue this further, you will lie dead among them!”

Isaac dropped his gaze from her face. Her eyes pleaded harder than her words, which made it all the more painful to refuse. “Trust me, I wish I could let this go and move on with my life,” he said quietly, “but I just can’t. A minervae _died_ so that I could find out where I came from. If I give up now, I might as well piss on her grave. I can’t do it.”

“Sweet boy, it’s not worth it,” urged Feredil, squeezing his hands tighter. “Where you come from doesn’t matter! You have a beautiful life right here, right now in the Hollow, and you’re going to throw it all away for nothing! If it’s a mother and father you want, Balthazaar and I will take you with open arms. You can quit this dangerous job of yours! We will send you to school and give you the normal life you deserve.”

Isaac looked around the dim common area. “You guys are barely keeping a roof over your heads as it is. I have no business leeching off you,” he said.

Feredil’s petite face suddenly twisted into a scowl. She slapped her palms on the table and growled, “We would have a house by now if my husband would stop throwing our gold around! Every day he leaves with full pockets, and every night he returns with nothing! I don’t know what he does with it and at this point, I don’t even care anymore...”

Her eyes sparkled with emotion as she continued, “All I ever wanted in life was to be a mother. If you would let me adopt you as my own, I would say goodbye to that man if it came down to it. I would devote all my time and attention to giving you a happy life. It would be good for both of us, don’t you think? You could finally quit this wretched mercenary business and go to school! I would see to it, I promise you!”

Isaac regarded her with a strained expression, trying to hide his pity. This was hardly the first time she tried to adopt him. The woman longed for a child as fish longed for water, but as she told him years ago, she and Balthazaar simply couldn’t make one together.

“Come on, don’t do this to me…” groaned Isaac. “I could never quit the Good Guys. They’re my family.”

Feredil argued, “But they don’t know what’s best for you! They send you to do dangerous jobs in all these godforsaken places! I would never do such a thing. I would keep you safe and raise you right, if only you will let me.”

“I’m seventeen, Feredil. I’m a grown man.”

“Not to an elf, you’re not! You have no idea how young you really are. This foolish idea of yours proves it!”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac apologized. With a slow, solemn sigh, Feredil released his hands and leaned back in her chair.

“It’s just as well,” she said. “My whole life has been a joke, and the only ones laughing are the gods. They decided long ago that I shall never get what I want!”

“Hey, don’t say that. You don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”

“Oh, but I do,” Feredil argued, rising from her chair. “Balthazaar will return from his contract with empty pockets, probably drunk and smelling like cheap perfume as usual! And I will care for him like the overgrown child he is, because that’s the promise I made when I married him. But does he care for me? Look around you and see for yourself!”

She became louder with each word, swinging her hands around at her grungy environment.

Dragging a hand down the back of his neck, Isaac said, “Look, I feel really bad. I didn’t mean to come here and upset you. Is there anything you want help with? Maybe I can fix the roof, or—”

“Please, spare me your pity,” the elfenne interrupted, reaching into a cabinet. She faced Isaac again with a basket in her hands, its contents covered by a white cloth. “I shouldn’t burden you with these things. My personal drama is my own. If you could just take this to Mr. Ocean, I would very much appreciate it.”

“Mr. Ocean?”

“Yes. Ms. Fontaine asked me to look after him while she was away on her contract,” Feredil explained. Hesitating for a moment, she continued, “But…Well, just between you and me, he makes me a little nervous. Balthazaar tells me he’s a sorcerer and he could destroy a whole town if he wanted to!”

Waving his hand, Isaac told her, “Aww, don’t be scared of him. Mr. Ocean would never hurt the Hollow, he loves it here.”

Feredil shuddered. “So you say. Call me a coward all you want, but I’d prefer to keep my distance from that Aquarian. I heard what he and his ilk did to all those women in Woodborne!”

“Alright,” said Isaac, taking the basket. “I’ll take this to him right away. Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”

“No, no. I must stay busy or my mind will wander. And like you, it has a habit of wandering into dark and dangerous places, regardless of how I feel about it.” Feredil delivered a light slap against the mercenary’s forehead. Isaac accepted it without a flinch and left the boarding house.

He followed the dirt path across the plaza and down the forested trail. Before long, the canopy of leaves opened up to overcast skies, split apart by the lake. A brittle layer of frost was creeping in at the lake’s edges, brown leaves drifting across its surface. Isaac wouldn’t dream of dipping a toe into that cold water, but according to Alaine, Aquarians could shrug off such a cold without a thought.

A long dock stretched before him, leading up to Alaine’s humble shack resting on stilts above the water. Branching from that dock was another, leading to a crude gazebo fashioned from poles with walls of braided rope. Despite the temperature, that’s where Isaac found Mr. Ocean. There was a square opening in the floor of the gazebo where a hammock dangled in the water, and the cecaelia was seemingly asleep in it.

Isaac approached with the basket, standing under the gazebo. “Mr. Ocean?” he queried. He went unheard, so he raised his voice and called again. Mr. Ocean awoke with a start, tentacles flailing and slapping against the water. His eyelids snapped open, then a second, transparent set of eyelids slid up after them.

“Ah! Ivan!” he sputtered, righting himself in the hammock. “My apologies. There is fungus in my ears.”

Isaac set the basket on the dock and replied, “Who’s Ivan? I’m _Isaac_.”

Mr. Ocean’s four eyelids blinked slightly out of tandem. “There is fungus in my brain too.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Isaac pointed his toe at the basket. “Feredil asked me to deliver this. Smells good, whatever it is.”

The cecaelia cocked his head with interest, pulling himself onto the dock. Water gushed from the gills at his neck and ribs. Snatching the basket with one of his tentacles, he drew back the cloth and revealed a golden pie beneath.

Isaac winced as he watched Mr. Ocean scoop a chunk out of the pie with his claws and shove it into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, loudly snapping his teeth while crumbs and drool oozed down his chin. The mercenary scrubbed at his eyes, stifling his laughter. A full year on, and his table manners hadn’t improved one bit.

“It’s a pumpkin pie. It’s quite delicious,” observed Ocean, spraying crumbs forth. He offered a handful of the orange goop to Isaac and asked, “Would you like some?”

Isaac declined as politely as possible. “Uh, thanks, but you should probably get your fill. You’re looking pretty thin, no offense.”

“Dr. Che tells me the same,” Mr. Ocean replied between messy bites. “I’m fortunate to have so many friends who care for me. If it weren’t for you, I would scarcely feed myself at all. It’s easy to forget about food. I have fungus in my brain, you know.”

The mercenary wore a smile of both amusement and pity. “I know,” he said. He stood there quietly for a moment, staring out at the glittering water. Birdsong twittered faintly in the trees, yet it was deafening in his ears. Clearing his throat, he added, “I wanted to ask you something…”

“Yes?”

“About what you said a couple days ago. You said ‘ _all is possible with magic’_. Is that really true? All, as in _everything_?”

Mr. Ocean paused with a handful of food raised to his mouth. He sat down on the edge of the dock as he thoughtfully chewed through the rest of his meal. Isaac sat down beside him, waiting patiently.

At last, the cecaelia set the pie tin aside, licked his fingers and explained, “When I was young, back in ancient times, my people believed that magic could only do so much. They said the rain would come and the rain would always be. They said the things you are, are things you have to be. But these limits lied with them, not with magic…”

The cecaelia conjured an illusion between his hands, imagery made from dancing light. Isaac watched a crude figure of a long-haired human shielding herself as she was pelted by rain. Mr. Ocean continued, “They only knew the small world around them. I was the first of the Tekeetians to explore your land of Terria, and the limits of my world became so much larger. I came to know the properties of air, of light, of fire, in ways which my people had never known before. In my explorations, I discovered a way to dispel the rain.”

With a wave of his hand, the rain stopped. The human figure rejoiced with a gleeful spin on her toes, then faded away. “I slithered to the surface with eight tentacles,” he went on, sweeping a hand towards his feet, “and two of them became legs. The thing I was then is not the thing I am today. My peoples’ understanding of magic was primitive in those days. Perhaps I am wrong—I have fungus in my brain, after all—but I have lived for over a thousand years, and I have watched as the limits of magic are pushed back further and further to such a distance that I must doubt if the limit exists at all. I think it only exists in the minds of people. Perhaps those who fear the idea of unlimited power, or those who lack the imagination to innovate. A stagnant puddle is more comfortable than rolling waves, but it will not take you anywhere you haven’t seen before.”

Isaac furrowed his brow, trying desperately to understand. He saw his reflection in the calm water of the lake below, looking so small and insignificant beside the cecaelian sorcerer beside him. He turned to Mr. Ocean and said, “You know, you’re pretty wise for a guy with a moldy brain.”

“I disagree, but your words warm my hearts. Thank you, little friend.”

An amused smile crossed Isaac’s face. He stared down at his pitiful reflection for some time, then he asked, “So, do you think a divine could use magic to have a child? A real child, with a real soul and everything?”

With a shrug, Mr. Ocean replied, “The world will tell you that it is impossible, and that the impossible cannot be done even through magic. I have done the impossible many times, and I think just because no one has found the way doesn’t mean it’s not there. Magic is an art, you see. Art is the marriage of creativity and soul.” He splayed his webbed fingers, pressing his palms together to illustrate his point. “It would take one especially creative soul to find a way. But for what it’s worth, this demented, old sorcerer believes that it is possible.”

That familiar giddiness bubbled in Isaac’s gut, a sickening mixture of excitement and dread. Before he could thank Mr. Ocean, the cecaelia suddenly turned his head at the distant sound of hooves coming down the trail. Frederick was trotting towards the lake with a long stick in his hand, thwacking every tree he passed. His fat belly jiggled with each prancing step.

Mr. Ocean winced, hunching down like a scolded mongrel. “Oh no…Forgive me, I must go,” he mumbled, then disappeared under the water with a discreet splash.

Isaac stood up and called to the young centaur, “Hey, Freddie! Your dad’s been looking for you! He needs your help with something!”

Frederick stopped by the pebbly shore, turning his way. “Tell him to eat dirt!” he called back, then began poking his stick at the shallow water. Feeling slighted, Isaac jogged down the dock to meet him.

He shoved Frederick’s shoulder and snapped, “Why are you so disrespectful? Your dad’s the nicest guy in town and you treat him like crap! I’d be embarrassed to act like you. Go home.” He pointed towards the trail.

“I’ll go home when I _feel_ like it,” insisted Frederick. “My dad’s not the boss of me. He’s nothing but a coward. If he wants me to listen to him, he’ll have to make me!”

“ _I’ll_ make you if you don’t scoot,” Isaac told him sharply, shoving him harder.

The centaur faced him, bracing his hooves with the stick raised high. Isaac flinched and wished he hadn’t. He held his ground and stared hard into Frederick’s eyes to make up for it.

“You sure you wanna hit me, kid?” he asked flatly. “You really think that’s a smart move?”

Frederick’s chubby face scrunched with anger, a single defiant breath gusting through his nostrils. Though Isaac was several years older with some combat training under his belt, he couldn’t deny that the boy made him nervous. Frederick still had a few hundred pounds on him, and he wasn’t about to swing his cursed scythe at a villager over a petty squabble. Even Mr. Ocean, a powerful sorcerer, had fled in Frederick’s presence.

Isaac realized he was facing this miniature behemoth totally unarmed. He hoped no one was around to see him get trampled by a twelve-year-old. He’d never hear the end of it!

“I’m warning you: you hit me once, and my entire crew will be on your fat hide like flies on shit,” warned Isaac. Though Evan taught him better than to cuss in front of children, he decided he’d accept a bruise to his dignity before he accepted a cracked bone from this village brat.

Thinking quickly, he added, “What about Elska, huh? What do you think she’ll do to you if she finds out you’ve been acting like a punk? And Ms. Philippa—she won’t wanna teach you magic anymore! Think hard about it, Freddie. You still wanna start something with me, or do you wanna go home and forget this ever happened?”

The boy’s angry wrinkles suddenly smoothed. His eyes rounded wide with some kind of realization, and slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the stick. They stared eachother down for a moment more, until Isaac tipped his head towards the trail and ordered, “Get out of here.”

Frederick lingered for a few seconds, shifting from hoof to hoof as he fought some kind of inner battle. Finally, he let out a growl and threw the stick down at Isaac’s feet, then galloped away down the road.

A long breath passed Isaac’s lips. Suddenly he felt fatigued, and he decided to lay his journey to rest for the day. There wasn’t much else he could do until his books arrived. Even he, in all his haste, knew it was unwise to confront Karenza without first arming himself with knowledge. Until then, he returned to the compound to help his crew catch up on a long list of chores.

Isaac tended the chickens in the community coop, helped Lukas remove pests from his garden, and fed Evan’s cows. Afterwards, he harvested Alaine’s fish traps and helped Glenvar cook the fish for dinner. After dinner, he went straight back to his shack and collapsed in his hammock. A single candle flickered away on the side table, nearly melted down to a puddle.

Just beside it was the scorpion in the jar. Isaac affectionately patted the lid and yawned, “Good night, little guy. I’ll ask the captain if he has any contracts in Serkel tomorrow.”

The little red creature stared back at him through the glass, silent and unmoving. Isaac rolled over and fell asleep under its diligent watch.

*


	2. Raging Fleet

**[CHAPTER 2: RAGING FLEET]**

Something heavy slammed against the side of Isaac’s shack. The young mercenary scrambled out of his hammock, nearly tripping over his own feet. The room was bathed in orange light from the two small windows, the forest hazy with gray mist. He heard Shadow outside, screeching and scratching at his door with her beak.

Something was terribly wrong.

Isaac rushed to slip his leather chest piece over his pajamas, threw a coat on over that, and pulled his flight goggles around his neck. He swiped his scythe and stepped into his boots before opening the door. A plume of smoke assaulted him in that instant, and he slammed the door shut again with a fit of ragged coughs. His eyes burned and watered.

Shadow was still screeching in distress, butting her massive head against his walls to beckon him outside. Isaac snagged a bandana out of a chest and tied it around the bottom half of his face. He pulled his flight goggles over his eyes, and then he made a second attempt to leave the shack.

Smoke rushed in once more, but between his bandana and goggles, he could tolerate it just enough to look around. The air was tinted orange and thick with an abrasive haze. He could hear faint sounds of panic in the distance.

Isaac clambered onto Shadow’s back, gripping her great, black feathers for support. The sky above was dark with billowing smoke and he knew visibility would be poor, so he rode Shadow on foot towards the compound’s main plaza. Just as he arrived, he saw several crewmen rushing about, half-armored with whatever weapons they could get their hands on.

Evan rode by on Scarlet, his rust-colored draft horse. The horse skidded to a stop before him. She was clearly mounted in haste, unsaddled with a bridle thrown onto her face. “Isaac, I was just on my way to get you!” Evan said. “The village is on fire and it’s spreading fast! Evacuate everyone you can and get them to the lake! I’ll meet you there later!”

With that, the captain charged further down the road. The other crewmen ran off to mount their own horses, then dispersed throughout the village. Panic coursed through Isaac’s veins, forcing the remnants of grogginess out. Suddenly he was awake, alert, and ready for action.

He jumped down from Shadow’s back and told her, “Go to the lake! Go on!”

The bird tilted her head, crowing warily. Isaac waved her towards the east towards Drifter’s Lake, and reluctantly, she flapped her wings and disappeared into the smoke above. Isaac sprinted down the road to Drifter’s Hollow on foot. Shadow was too big to maneuver through a flaming forest—she would only be a liability.

The depths of the forest flickered with red light, bold shadows stretching across the path like reaching arms. There was no telling what time it was, for the sky was choked with haze. The usual morning frost was nowhere to be found, and the dry, oppressive heat reminded Isaac of summer in the Serkel Desert.

Isaac could see the flames now, raging above through the canopy. Fire spread from limb to limb on either side of the road. He heard distant screams and the unearthly giggling of nymphs among them. With his scythe in hand, he turned down a smaller road towards a row of simple cottages. The carnage hit him like a punch to the gut.

Two flaming trees had fallen across the road, one landing atop one of the houses. Tomato stood some distance away, desperately crying for help into the smoky abyss. Isaac rushed forth and called, “Come with me, Tomato! I’ll get you to safety!”

The young satyr turned to him, eyes wet and wide with fear. “My mom and my sister and Mr. Itchy are in there! I can’t get them out! Please help them! Please, please!” Tomato sobbed, barely coherent through his hysterics. He was smeared with soot from head to hoof, as if he’d just crawled out from the rubble himself.

Isaac quickly rounded the little house, almost completely lost under the tree. The front half was destroyed, and the back half was but a tangle of loose boards and precarious debris. “Ms. Ginger? Mr. Itchy?” he called warily, fearing the worst. All he could hear was Cinnamon crying from somewhere inside. He could hardly see beyond the darkness of the branches, each one covered by long, green needles. Flames were climbing up its trunk from the depths of the forest, headed straight for the house.

He heard Itchy shout back from somewhere in the debris, “Get us out! What are you waiting for? Come on, my kid’s in here!”

Isaac pushed a branch aside, peering closer. He could just barely make out movement in the shadows. The roof was slanted, held up by only a couple cracked beams. He feared if he wasn’t careful, he’d send the whole structure crashing down on them.

“Isaac, I can see you! Here, take Cinnamon!” called Ginger. Isaac heard some rustling, then a pair of dusty, freckled hands reached out from the branches, offering a screaming baby. Cinnamon was covered with dirt, and sticks were lodged in her curly hair, but otherwise she appeared unscathed. Isaac carefully sliced through the branches with his scythe to clear a path to her. He pulled her against him with one arm, then handed her off to Tomato, standing close behind.

“Can you move?” asked Isaac.

Itchy snapped, “Does it look like we can, ya moron? There’s a plank pinnin’ us both to the floor! I can move one arm and that’s it! I think my damn legs are broken! I’m fucked!”

“Don’t worry about us,” Ginger told him between coughs, choking on the smoke and dust. “Please, just get the kids to the lake! Tomato, sweetheart, we love you so much! Everything will be okay! Take care of your sister, she needs you—”

“Mom, no! Don’t say that! I’m not leaving you here!” Tomato wailed, bouncing anxiously on his cloven toes. Isaac looked at the fire spreading up the tree’s trunk, then noticed Jeimos riding by on their black horse. Skel rode in the saddle just behind them, clutching their waist.

“Skel, Jay! I need help over here!” called Isaac. Jeimos yanked the reins and the horse reared up, braying dramatically before trotting towards Isaac. He pointed to the rubble and explained, “Ginger and Itchy are in there! I-I don’t want to move anything, I’m afraid the whole house will come down! What do we do?”

Jeimos and Skel hurried around the perimeter, surveying the damage. Ginger and Itchy both screamed when a cracked board collapsed, landing heavily in the rubble. “Okay, nobody touch anything!” decided Skel, raising his palms. “That house is hanging on by a thread! I’m going to cast a levitation spell around Ginger and Itchy. When I do, I need you two…” he nodded towards Isaac and Jeimos, “…to _quickly_ get in there and _quickly_ remove them, _quickly_. I can’t keep this spell up for very long, so don’t drag your feet or you’ll all be crushed! Ready?”

Isaac and Jeimos nodded, positioning themselves as close to the trapped couple as possible. Tomato stood back, clutching his crying sister tightly. Skel’s green fingers began to glow with magical energy. He pressed them to the sides of his skull, minding the pressure in his veins as he exerted his magic outward. He counted down, “Three…two…one…go!”

Some of the branches on the tree stood up as if lifted by an invisible force. Loose beams broke free and levitated in the air, planks spinning, stones flying. It all hovered in place as Isaac and Jeimos dived into the gap and seized Ginger’s arms. She came free easily, but Itchy had but one arm to grab, and he yowled in pain when they pulled it.

“The beam, it’s layin’ on my back!” the satyr told them. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere! Forget about it, just get Ginger and the kids outta here!”

“Hurry up, I’m losing it!” grunted Skel. His hands and knees quaked with magical exertion. With little thought, Isaac shoved Jeimos and Ginger away from the structure, then slashed his scythe through the branches.

Cut loose from the tree, they were caught in Skel’s spell and levitated high in the air, clearing the way. Isaac could see Itchy then, laying on his belly in the darkness, all covered with soot and leaves. Sweat gleamed on Isaac’s brow, trembling hands swiping his scythe madly through the jungle of wood planks. They levitated in a growing, swirling ball above his head.

“Isaac! Wrap it up!” Skel urged through his teeth.

“Hold on, just hold on!” Isaac urged back, and then he jumped into the makeshift cave where Itchy lie. He felt Skel’s power tugging at him, felt the soles of his boots trying to leave the ground.

He affixed his scythe to his harness and clutched the collapsed ceiling so not to float away, and with his other arm, he tried to lift the offending beam.

Skel collapsed to his knees. “Isaac!” he screamed. Just as he did, the beam shifted ever so slightly. It was just enough to allow Itchy to escape, frantically clawing his way out of the house on his hands and knees.

Isaac lunged for him, trapping him in a rolling tackle just as the floating debris crashed down. They narrowly avoided it, suffering a few hits from smaller planks and stones as they tumbled through the wet leaves. Skel dropped his forehead to the ground, back heaving with every labored breath. Jeimos helped Isaac to his feet, then began helping him and the satyr family onto their horse.

Ginger showered them in a flurry of teary thank-yous. She sat behind Skel in the saddle, trapping him in a hug before bending down to cup Jeimos’ face and kiss their forehead. “Get them to the water! I’ll scout for more survivors,” Jeimos told Skel.

“Me too,” coughed Isaac, brushing the soot from his pants.

Jeimos shot him a strange look, but Skel didn’t question it. “Suit yourself,” said the goblin, and then the horse began trotting down the eastern road.

Before they disappeared in the haze, Itchy pointed back at Isaac and called, “Consider us even, kid!”

Isaac waved, then he and Jeimos headed the opposite direction towards the village proper. The scene ahead was a waking nightmare. The clinic, market, and the inn were all consumed by towering flames. Isaac could go no further, for the heat pulsing off of them was too intense. He heard voices screaming from somewhere ahead, but through the smoke and flickering red light, he could not see a single one.

“Izzy, please, get yourself to safety! I’ll take care of things here,” said Jeimos.

Isaac shook his head and coughed, “Just find anyone you can and bring them to me. I can call Shadow and airlift everyone at once.”

With a dutiful nod, Jeimos ran into the plaza and straight through the flames. Their pyriad-hair robes did not ignite, nor did the rest of them. They were a red elf, impervious to fire, but fire wasn’t the only obstacle ahead of them. Isaac gasped, helplessly clawing at his hair when he heard the deafening snap of a tree trunk. He saw a massive conifer come down, toppling straight across the plaza.

Flaming branches rocketed every which way. One was flung in Isaac’s direction, missing him by inches. “Jay!” he cried, and then he doubled over to cough. He could do nothing for them. He could still hear voices screaming in the distance, likely those of trapped villagers. Jeimos was the only one who could come to their aid, and though impervious to flame, the elf was hardly stronger than a child.

Isaac anxiously paced back and forth. There must be _something_ more he could do to help, he thought. Just then, a flaming creature burst through the forest to his right, startling him so badly that he fell on his behind. Fortunately so, for the creature was a great moose all engulfed by flames, and it nearly trampled him as it ran by. Just a moment later, a second creature emerged.

Isaac shot back to his feet, readying his scythe. It was a pyriad—a nymph of flame—and she regarded him with a manic cackle. Her orange, naked flesh glowed like the light of a candle, crazed eyes rounded like plates. Her black lips parted in an ear-to-ear grin, exposing a mouthful of pointed teeth.

She slowly approached on cloven hooves. “My meal got away,” she said. “Why don’t you take me out for dinner, handsome?”

“Stay back!” warned Isaac, raising his scythe. The pyriad stopped just out of his reach. Her yellow eyes shifted slightly to the side, as if she saw something behind him, and then her grin returned. Isaac dared to look back. Another pyriad was sneaking up on him from behind.

The mercenary swung his scythe in two horizontal arcs. The nymphs jumped back with shrieks and giggles, but they were undeterred. They danced around him, laughing and taunting him. Each one stayed opposite to the other, making it impossible for Isaac to watch them both at once.

“Eyes on me, boy,” one teased, dancing seductively. As she did, the second nymph crept closer to Isaac. He wasn’t so foolish, and whirled around with a swing. The blade lopped off the creeping pyriad’s arm. It crumbled to ash when it hit the ground. The pyriad only giggled and somersaulted away as if their battle were a game. She snatched some leaves off a bush with her remaining hand and swallowed them whole. The bush was left alight from her touch, and as soon as she swallowed, the stump at her elbow glowed bright. Isaac watched in awe as a new arm regenerated right before his eyes.

He was so transfixed by her magic, he never noticed the first pyriad sneaking up on him until it was too late. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the ground. Isaac screamed and thrashed beneath her. Her touch was like a hot pan fresh from the oven. She thrashed madly with her claws, but she was barely stronger than a child and much lighter than she appeared.

Isaac shoved her off with a roar, sending her toppling backwards. His scalp was burning and he could hear the crackling flames in his hair. He quickly rubbed his palms over his head to smother them, but then the other pyriad tackled him down. He was outnumbered, his scythe lying uselessly on the ground. He kicked the pyriad away and tried to pick it up, but the second pyriad returned and stomped on his hand with her hard, cloven hoof.

He struggled under their clawing and thrashing for what felt like an eternity, until one of their heads suddenly melted. It rolled off her shoulders and crumbled to ashy ooze right on Isaac’s chest. Both he and the other pyriad screamed and the remaining nymph scrambled off of him. He, too, scrambled to his feet and wiped the ooze away in disgust. It turned his palms gray.

Gwyneth and Brogan stood in front of him, each of them holding a bucket of water. Gwyneth tossed a splash towards the remaining pyriad, striking her across the belly. The pyriad fell down with a shriek, writhing on the wet ground in her death throes.

Brogan poured some water over Isaac’s head to douse the flames. Before Isaac could thank him, Gwyneth turned to the plaza and shouted, “Well, so much for saving the market! There goes everything I’ve ever worked for, up in god damned flames!”

“It spread so fast, lassie, there was nothin’ we could—” Brogan began, but Gwyneth couldn’t bear to hear it.

She threw water in his face and bellowed, “Shut your mouth, you animal! If you hadn’t dragged your ass on the way to the lake—”

“Guys, there’s people still trapped in there!” interrupted Isaac. “Jeimos is trying to get them out! Go to the lake and _stay_ there! Don’t let anyone come back for anything!”

“Bite my britches, kid! My life savings is in that market, and I’ll die before I let scavvers have it!” argued Gwyneth, storming towards the flames.

“Brogan, stop her!” cried Isaac, but the satyr was already ahead of him. He snagged Gwyneth and tossed her over his shoulder, all while she kicked and screamed and beat him over his horned head with her empty bucket.

“I’m sorry, lass,” Brogan sighed. “It’s all gone. We gotta go.”

Isaac watched them leave, Gwyneth kicking and screaming the whole way. Not long after, a tall figure stepped out of the burning plaza. Jeimos rushed towards Isaac, covering someone else with their pyriad-hair robe to shield them from the flames. “Izzy,” they panted, “these two were all I could round up. The village is crawling with hostiles! We all need to go, now!”

They pulled their robe back, revealing Tojum and Dr. Che. They were both filthy with soot. Tojum began moving down the road, limping along on an injured leg. “Let’s go! Gets to water! Village is done, gone, dead!” the kobold sobbed.

Dr. Che adjusted his broken spectacles and followed her. He placed a hand on her back as she cried, burying her face in his dirty white coat. Jeimos ushered Isaac along with them.

“What do you mean ‘hostiles?” queried Isaac.

“Pyriads and bonewalkers,” answered Jeimos. “They’re destroying everything in their path! This is no wildfire, we are being attacked!”

“What? By who?” Isaac blurted.

Shaking their head, Jeimos growled, “I don’t know! But when I find out, they’ll bloody well pay for it! There are still people in there, Izzy! They’re still in there, but I—I just couldn’t—the monsters were coming, and there were so many, I—”

The elf’s voice cracked, smoky magma-tears welling in their eyes. Isaac rubbed their arm, offering what little words of comfort he could. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not your fault. I just saw Mrs. Fallbrooke and Mr. Brogan, they were headed to the lake. We’ll meet up there with Evan. He’ll know what to do.” Though his words were confident, his voice quivered with uncertainty. He just hoped Evan hadn’t been crushed or burned to death like so many others.

Dr. Che and Tojum walked several paces ahead, struggling to navigate through the thickening smog. They jumped at a loud cracking noise, then turned towards the canopy. The top half of a towering conifer was coming down. The group split apart with a shriek, escaping just before the trunk slammed across the road. Even horizontally, it was as tall as three men, its branches spreading out like the bristles of a gigantic brush. Each one was crackling with live flame.

The trunk separated Dr. Che and Tojum from Jeimos and Isaac. They lost sight of eachother over its bulk. “Are you guys okay?” called Isaac.

“Yes! Are you?” Dr. Che called back.

“We’re fine,” replied Jeimos. “Just keep moving! We’ll find another way around!”

Jeimos and Isaac ran back down the path until they arrived at a three-way split. The narrowest path would also take them to the lake, albeit the longer way around through the Freelance Good Guys compound. They followed it for some distance. The forest burned around them on all sides. They could see pyriads skipping through the trees, could hear their menacing laughs intertwined with the chaos.

A hulking figure appeared through the haze, blocking their path ahead. Jeimos gasped, slapping a gloved palm over their mouth. The figure was slightly obscured by smoke, but they could still make out the vivid red color of its chitin plates. A vaguely man-like torso sprouted from its scorpion-body, standing upon six insectoid legs. In place of hands it had two great, serrated claws.

“A skorpius? W-what on Gaia is it doing _here_?” hissed Jeimos, frozen in their tracks. Isaac couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink at the sight before him. His heart filled with dread. His grip tightened on his scythe. Its back was turned to them as it fussed with something on the side of the road. If he could sneak up on it, maybe he could—

“Help me! Someone help! It’s gonna eat me!” a familiar voice sobbed from somewhere ahead.

“Freddie?” gasped Isaac, and in an instant, his plan flew out the window. Jeimos reached to stop him, but he evaded their grasp and sprinted forth. Somehow the skorpius sensed him coming. It turned its cantankerous body around to meet him, raising its claws with a monstrous roar.

One claw shot towards Isaac, but was met with the golden blade of his scythe. Isaac lopped off everything below its elbow, then swept the scythe at its legs and severed its frontmost one on its left side. Furious, the skorpius whipped its long tail with the speed of a viper. The smack sent Isaac tumbling across the road, but he did not lose his grip on his weapon.

Jeimos jumped into the fight then, drawing a sword from their hip. “You’ll not touch him, you putrid creature! You want a real fight? Come on then!” they taunted, keeping a decidedly precise distance from the creature. The crew dealt with skorpius only a few times in the past. They didn’t know much about them except that they were venomous, dumb, and easily provoked.

Easily provoked meant easily distracted, so Jeimos continued to taunt the monster until Isaac was upright and charging for another blow. The skorpius limped towards Jeimos, struggling with its missing leg. It suddenly collapsed when Isaac severed one more from the same side. The skorpius jabbed at him with its tail, but Isaac expected as much and dodged its stinger before bolting behind it.

The skorpius lost sight of him then, scrambling to turn around with its scorpion belly pressed to the dirt. With just one leg left, it could no longer support that side of its body, leaving it to drag. There wasn’t much Jeimos’ sword could do to its chitin plates, and they knew that like them, the monster feared no flame. All the elf could do was harass it, throwing stones and insults to keep its attention while Isaac scaled its back.

The skorpius must have lacked nerves in its plates, for it didn’t seem to notice Isaac standing on it until the scythe ripped through its humanoid spine. Black sludge gushed from the wound, staining Isaac’s coat. The skorpius let out terrible, hog-like squeals as it thrashed about. Isaac couldn’t get away quick enough, and he was struck by its flailing claw.

The mercenary fell off the creature’s back and immediately suffered a kick from its spiky, flailing feet, opening a bloody gash in the arm of his jacket. He rolled away and sprang upright, ready to finish it off with a swing to its neck. The scythe could penetrate any armor and usually made quick work of his enemies, but the strike had to be a killing blow. He tried to slice through the heart before, but it seemed the skorpius didn’t have one.

Isaac raised his weapon to strike. The skorpius’ tail was faster. The mercenary cried out when he felt something stab him in the back, right between his shoulder blades. The barb pulled free with a gush of black, tarry ooze. Isaac felt the ooze burning under his flesh as it slowly spread through his body. The attack stunned him for a moment or two. He heard Jeimos cry his name and tried to refocus.

His legs became rubber. Isaac stumbled back a few paces, though he meant to walk forward, raising his weapon at the flailing skorpius. His efforts were wasted. The world spun around him, the venom burned like fire, and he collapsed in the middle of the road with a death-grip on his scythe.

Jeimos stood some distance away, eyes blown wide. They saw the skorpius using the last of its strength to drag itself towards Isaac’s unconscious body, reaching for his scythe. “Oh no, you bloody don’t!” shouted Jeimos. With a wave of their sword, they disappeared in a burst of light and reappeared above the monster, dropping onto its shoulders.

The skorpius had no time to react before the sword was plunged through its open maw, piercing through the back of its head. Jeimos braced their feet on its shoulders and tugged the hilt with all their might. The skorpius’ chitin creaked, its flesh squelched, and then the top half of its head separated from its jaw. Jeimos fell to the ground with it, soaked with black gore.

Finally, the skorpius was defeated. Its remaining limbs curled in on themselves as its muscles contracted, rolling onto its back like a dead insect. Jeimos panted as they righted themselves, spitting on its body before rushing towards Isaac.

They scooped him into their arms with a grunt. Their skinny knees knocked under his weight. “Frederick! Come out, it’s safe now!” they called. When they turned around, they saw a centaur’s behind push itself out of a hollow log. Frederick was struggling to escape his hiding place. Jeimos laid Isaac down to help him, pulling his tail until he broke free.

The young centaur’s gaze shifted to the skorpius’ mangled corpse. He let out a shriek and danced about anxiously on his hooves. “Don’t look at that nasty thing!” warned Jeimos, lifting Isaac by the arms. “Just grab Izzy’s legs and help me get him to the lake!”

Tears poured down Frederick’s face as he wailed, “I can’t find my dad! What if he’s dead?”

“He might already be waiting for us! We have to go! Come on now, there’s no time to dally!” Jeimos urged, and together, they began rushing Isaac down the narrow path.

The mercenary’s eyes cracked open. He saw Jeimos’ face and the blurry forest canopy passing by. The pain in his body was so great that he could scarcely move, but he let his scythe go for nothing, clutching it closely to his chest. Even in his poisoned delirium, he knew he could not let it fall into the wrong hands.

He heard Frederick shriek, then grunted in pain as he was dropped on the ground. Another skorpius blocked the path, feeding off the corpse of a dead villager. The body was eviscerated beyond recognition, likely human or elven. The skorpius tore it apart with its claws, strip by strip, and greedily swallowed the pieces. It stopped only when it noticed Jeimos and Frederick through the screen of smoke, and then it charged them with a furious bellow.

Even with all their legs, skorpius were not particularly fast-moving creatures. Jeimos froze for just a second, at a loss for what to do. They had to keep Isaac’s scythe away from the monster at all cost. They turned to Frederick and hissed, “I’ll distract it! Take Isaac and run!”

Then with a wave of their sword, they flashed through time and space, reappearing on the skorpius’ scorpion-back. They slashed their blade against its hard chitin armor, each blow as useless as the last, if only to get its attention off their friends. The skorpius’ charge came to a halt. Confused, it spun around several times, trying to twist its inflexible, armor-bound torso around, but it could not see the elf clinging to its back.

Meanwhile, Frederick effortlessly scooped up Isaac and tried to run. He slowed down, hesitated, for the hulking monster was blocking the narrow road. Thorny brambles and flaming leaves prevented an easy detour. Frederick waited for an opening as the skorpius skittered back and forth, trying to dislodge Jeimos from its back. It slammed against a tree to the right and the centaur took his chance, curving to the left to give it a wide berth.

Weighed down by Isaac and his own extra blubber, he simply wasn’t fast enough. The skorpius careened to the left and slammed into Frederick, knocking him to the ground. Isaac rolled out of his grip, the skorpius tumbled over him, and Jeimos went flying into the brambles all at once.

The skorpius was the first to right itself. It saw the scythe sticking out of the thicket and snatched it in its jagged claw. Its lifeless, yellow eyes met Jeimos’, and it charged towards the elf stuck in the brambles. It raised the scythe and bellowed, “Die, little pest!”

Jeimos disappeared in an explosion of light. The scythe chopped through nothing but brambles, its wielder pausing in bewilderment. Jeimos reappeared just behind the monster. They motioned for Frederick to help them as they lifted Isaac once again. Frederick hesitated to get any closer to it, quivering on the other side of the road.

It was too late. The skorpius slapped Jeimos to the ground with a whip of its tail. The great force knocked the wind from their lungs and the sight from their eyes for a short moment, long enough for the monster to lunge forward and snatch Frederick. Frederick screamed and thrashed, but his long hair was tangled in the jags of its claw.

Jeimos sat up, chest heaving, blinking the spots from their vision. They saw the skorpius standing before them, holding the golden blade to Frederick’s throat. “You will watch this child die,” it rumbled. “He will bleed like a pig and your misery will nourish my master!”

Jeimos froze, jaw falling agape. Before they could react, another voice called the centaur’s name.

“Frederick!”

Galloping towards them was none other than Olof. In the skorpius’ grip, Frederick cried out, “Dad! Help me!”

“Unhand my son, you monster!” Olof snarled, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Only a coward attacks a child! Fight honorably or die like a worm!”

Isaac forced his eyes open with a choking rasp, disbelieving his ears. Never had he heard Olof raise his voice in anger, much less pick a fight. The skorpius’ poison must have spread to his brain, he thought, and his head dropped back into the leaves.

The skorpius stared Olof down for a moment. Then, it threw Frederick to the ground and charged him, roaring, “I will tear you apart and feed you to your child!”

Olof reared up with an equally mighty roar and sprinted forth. The skorpius raised the scythe in its cumbersome claw, but could not bring it down before the centaur slammed into its torso. Olof grappled its scorpion-belly as he did, and with a great heave, he flipped the armored behemoth on its back. The skorpius flailed all six of its legs, opening a long slash across Olof’s chest with its barbs.

Olof backed off only briefly, then tackled the monster with a running start, pinning it to the ground. It grasped the scythe with both claws to get a better hold, but before it could swing, Jeimos threw themselves against the handle. They tried to wrestle the weapon away, refusing to let go even as they were shaken back and forth. Olof ducked a sloppy swing before jamming his thumbs into the skorpius’ eyes. Black fluid gushed around them, the skorpius writhing and squealing in agony.

The pain was enough to loosen its claws, and with Frederick’s help, Jeimos pulled the scythe away. The skorpius flailed its free claws and bashed Olof over the head. The centaur cried out and rolled himself off the monster, holding his bleeding scalp. He peeked at Frederick through his curtain of ashen hair and shouted, “Go, my son! Find the mercenaries, they will protect—”

Olof cut himself off with a howl when the skorpius blindly reached out, catching his wrist in its claw. It grabbed his opposite shoulder with the other, drawing a gush of blood. Frederick screeched helplessly as Jeimos led him away. “Frederick, we have to go!” the elf told him with quivering urgency, leading him away by the arm. Reluctantly, the two lifted Isaac again and carried him towards the lake, leaving Olof to battle the skorpius alone.

The world had long since faded away from Isaac by the time he reached Drifter’s Lake. There was a commotion around him, yet all he heard was muffled static like wind over the plains. He didn’t see Linde scooping a bucket of water from the lake. He didn’t hear the water splashing over him. He didn’t feel the water freezing by the power of her magic.

Suddenly, reality came roaring back. Isaac’s eyes snapped wide open and he pushed himself upright, shattering the thin layer of ice that coated his body. Something was working its way out of the wound in his back. He squirmed and twisted in pain until it broke free: a black serpent made of venom, about as long as his arm. It thrashed around on the ground, as aimless as a worm, until Linde lobbed a frost spell at it.

It stilled then, encased in ice, and then Glenvar shattered it with his axe. The shards lie still on the shore, and so too did Isaac, trying to catch his breath and observe his surroundings.

He saw dozens of villagers rushing about in a panic. Dr. Che and Tojum tended the wounded while his fellow mercenaries guarded the perimeter, warding encroaching pyriads away. Mr. Ocean stood atop his gazebo. He seemed lost in a trance as he chanted incantations, swaying back and forth with a long, gnarled staff raised above his head. Mist began to rise from the lake and into the sky. It formed dark clouds above the clearing, swirling, rolling, growing pregnant with rain.

It looked like his crew had everything handled here. What a great help _he’d_ been, Isaac thought. Even with his divine-slaying scythe, he’d only gotten in the way and put them in even more danger! He spotted Evan riding by on his horse, pointing in different directions as if silently counting heads. He threw a question towards Linde, asked, “How’s Isaac doing?”

“Much better! I think he’s gonna be just fine!” Linde replied brightly, pulling Isaac into a tight hug.

Isaac squeezed her back and said, “Thanks, Linde. You’re the best.” His voice was dry and raspy. The elfenne just nodded and offered him a sip from her canteen.

Balthazaar was running around the shoreline, shouting Feredil’s name. Spotting Evan, he hurried towards him and stammered, “Captain, I-I-I can’t find Feredil! She said she would meet me here, b-but no one’s seen her! She may be stuck in the village! Please, let me borrow your horse so I can find her!”

He reached for the reins, but Evan jerked them back and told him, “The flames are out of control and the forest is infested with monsters! We rescued everyone we could, but there’s no going back there.”

Balthazaar’s fists curled at his sides. “Captain! She’s my _wife_!” he shouted.

Evan shouted back, “I won’t lose anyone else today, Balthazaar! Your wife is a sharp woman, she will find her way! You must stay here and help those who need you now! That’s an order!”

Gwyneth must have been eavesdropping, for she marched up to Evan and added, “We’re up to six missing, Atlas! Feredil, Flora, and Olof are all unaccounted for! The glassmaker says her wife hasn’t shown up yet, I don’t know where the innkeeper is, and no one’s seen the blacksmith either!”

Evan dragged a palm down his tired face, leaving a smear of soot. After a deep breath, he replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Fallbrooke. Please keep an ear on the situation.”

Just then, a loud, wretched screech tore over the sky. The chatter around the lake died to silence, villagers looking up in confusion. The first screech was followed by a second. It was an ugly, distant, and ghostly sound the likes of which they had never heard before. But Isaac and his crewmen exchanged looks of horror and disbelief, for they had heard such a sound only a year ago, and they prayed then that they would never hear it again.

“Everyone in the water! Go, now!” shouted Evan, waving the villagers towards the lake. They began wading in up to their waists as he whistled for his crew and ordered, “Mr. Ocean, stay where you are! The rest of my crew, line up with me and ready your weapons!”

His crewmen obeyed at once. They formed a wall around the shore with Evan, anxiously watching the skies.

A third screech erupted from the clouds, and then panicked cries spread over the villagers when they saw its source sail over the canopy. A roc flew overhead, but it was so unlike Shadow, they questioned if it was a roc at all. It glided on four wings with two squabbling, malformed heads sprouting from its neck. Below were two large talons, and above those was another, smaller set of talons.

It looked as if two rocs had somehow been fused together, then forced to serve the cruel master saddled upon their shared back. A flash of light gleamed off his golden jackal mask as his mount spiraled down towards the clearing. Several dozen bone jockeys followed on the backs of flying bat-like creatures, some species of dragon that was not native to this region.

The ground quaked beneath the twin-headed roc’s talons as it landed before the wall of mercenaries. Villagers regarded it with shrieks of fright, but the mercenaries just stared in equal parts contempt and disbelief. The bonewalker jockeys landed around the roc in a disorganized formation. Each one was clad in ancient, rusty armor and armed with weapons that had clearly been buried with them long ago.

Saddled on the roc was none other than Mankind’s Disgrace, the Divine of Hate. He stared directly at Isaac through the ruby eyes of his mask. He urged his roc to step closer and the mercenaries parted for him, but Isaac refused to move. He held his ground, knuckles white and quivering with anger around his scythe.

Disgrace said nothing. He held a long cavalry sword with a tarnished, silver blade in his left hand, but he did not raise it. Rather, the roc leaned forward and he extended his empty right hand towards Isaac. Silent, waiting, as if awaiting something owed to him.

Isaac met his ruby stare, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You followed me here, didn’t you?” he creaked slowly. “You tracked me down and caused all this grief…just for this?” He raised the scythe, his tone grew louder, angrier with every word. “You want your stupid toy back? Fine, come get it!”

He let out a sharp whistle before darting under the mutant roc. Isaac’s crewmen broke into shouts, watching as their young friend began swinging at the bonewalkers behind it. He lopped off the heads of their dragons, severed their skeleton arms, cut through everything around him until Shadow came careening through the trees with a shriek.

“Shadow! Let’s go!” Isaac called, raising his scythe in both hands. The roc swooped by, bulldozing every bonewalker in her path, and grasped the handle in her talons. Isaac was lifted high into the sky in an instant, disappearing through the smoke and rolling, black clouds. Disgrace never took his jeweled eyes off the mercenary, and just as soon as he arrived, he was taking off again in pursuit.

The hideous roc-creature flapped its four wings and clumsily lifted off. So too did the remaining bonewalkers, jetting off on their speedier, more agile dragons. “Isaac!” Evan called after him, but he was already long gone. After a fleeting moment of thought, Evan called to his crew, “There are still monsters about! Stay here and protect the villagers!”

Then he rode up beside his commander, extending a hand. “Come on, Lukas. Let’s get our boy,” he said. Lukas nodded, taking his hand and jumping onto the horse’ back behind him. The horse bolted down the road, passing into the treacherous depths of the forest.

Pyriads stood at the edges of the burning thicket, peering at the villagers through the flames. The mercenaries knew they were there, for they could hear their giggling, and regarded them with contemptuous glares.

The pyriads dared to creep forward, outnumbering the mercenaries twice over. They moved in a wary, organized formation, closing in on the lake in a semi-circle. Their flesh was red-hot, and together, their combined heat could overwhelm the mercenaries.

Linde growled, “Back off!” and waved her crystal wand, drawing an arc of water from the lake. The arc froze solid and spun towards the pyriads like a boomerang. It struck four of them down with a burst of steam. The other pyriads lost their nerve and retreated to the forest, but it seemed they were not the only ones hungering for death.

“Bonewalkers inbound!” announced Javaan, pointing one of his machetes to the east. Indeed, a horde of over twenty skeletons were shambling out of the woods. Some were armored by ancient plates, others bare, and a few wearing only the remnants of decayed flesh on their bones. Their stench assaulted the mercenaries long before their rusty weapons did.

Elska was the first to act, letting out a war cry as she rushed the horde. She crashed through them at full sprint, raising a cacophony of clanging plates and cracking bones. Their brittle parts turned to dust beneath her warhammer, ribs shattering with each kick of her hooves. Her fellow crewmen glanced at eachother, each one silently asking the same question.

Javaan answered it aloud, “I think she’s got it handled.” The others agreed. But that was hardly the last of the horde, for ten more bonewalkers were creeping in from the opposite side of the forest.

With the captain and commander both absent, Alaine took her rightful place in charge. “Glen, Bally, hostiles to the west!” she ordered. Glenvar and Balthazaar sprung into action at her command, intercepting the smaller horde.

Glenvar hacked their brittle bones apart with his axe while Balthazaar punched them to dust with his oversized gauntlets. They were still in the fray when a third horde, about fifteen strong, shambled in from the north.

“Gods, they’re everywhere!” cried Skel. He looked to Alaine for orders and she waved her hand, giving him the go-ahead. The goblin focused his telekinetic energy in the center of the horde, then released a psychic blast that rippled the air like water. It rippled the bonewalkers as well, sending them tumbling in all directions. A couple of them broke apart on impact, others disarmed when their weapons were flung into the sky.

“Mop ‘em up, Javaan!” commanded Alaine. The centaur moved in with his two machetes, making quick work of the stragglers. Alaine felt a raindrop on her nose and shot a glance at Mr. Ocean. He was still dancing atop the gazebo, trying to summon the rain. It was best not to disturb him, she decided, and she hoped she would not have to call upon his power.

Javaan stomped the last bonewalker to dust and returned to his position by her side. Alaine patted his equine shoulder and chuckled, “Wow, Disgrace did _not_ bring his best. A few hot broads and a bunch of dumb bone-heads? What a joke! I’m almost insulted!”

The others shared a much needed laugh, even if they had to force themselves. The tension was too great, the aftermath of this attack looming heavy over their backs.

As it turned out, the attack was far from over.

The maniacal laughter of the pyriads returned, swelling up through the burning trees. The Freelance Good Guys fell back into position, eyes darting about in search of hostiles. They rounded wide when not one, not two, but three skorpius emerged from the forest, each one carrying several pyriads on its back.

The pyriads whooped and hollered,

“There’s the feast!”

“Get ‘em, big boys!”

“Save some for me!”

Alaine’s heart skipped a beat. There was no time to strategize. “Mages! Do, uh, _something_!” she blurted. Snapping out of his trance, Mr. Ocean waved his staff in two quick circles. A great orb of water levitated out of the lake. It was large enough to fit several men inside, but all it contained were a few unfortunate fish.

“Mr. Skel, would you kindly?” the cecaelia grunted, struggling to hold the orb in place. He was not much of a telekineticist. But Skel was unmatched, and the goblin sent the orb flying with a single pulse of magic. The orb exploded against one of the skorpius, dousing all four of its pyriad jockeys. They fell off its back in a writhing, steaming fit. Their screams died away as they turned to wet soot.

The skorpius was blown back by the force, disrupted only briefly before it continued its charge. Elska and Javaan intercepted the other two, meeting them with swinging hammers and dual machetes. Elska’s hammer crashed against one skorpius’ chest, the sheer force knocking it back several paces. Shards of chitin exploded outward, leaving a crack in its natural chestplate.

Javaan’s blades sparked against his foe’s rock-hard chitin, unable to slice through. The skorpius seized a blade in its claw and yanked it from his grip, tossing it back to its jockeys. One of the pyriads caught it and willed heat to her hand, superheating the blade of the machete until it glowed red. Javaan parried several more blows from the skorpius as the armed pyriad dismounted.

He never saw her coming before she slashed him across his flank with her red-hot blade. Javaan cried out in pain, faltering just long enough for the skorpius to get a good strike in. It bashed him across his scarred face with its claw, knocking him on his back.

The skorpius moved in for the kill, but Elska was faster. Her hammer slammed against its horned skull and ripped it to pieces on impact. Black gore splashed onto the screaming pyriads. The armed pyriad turned her focus to Elska while Javaan got back to his hooves. She assaulted the golden-haired centaur with a flurry of precise slashes, each one leaving an orange streak in the air.

Elska blocked all but one, slicing through her tunic and deep into the flesh of her humanoid belly. She barely flinched despite the blow. Javaan came to her aid shortly, dispatching the nymph with a swift two-hoofed kick. She tumbled backwards a great distance, losing her grip on his machete. Javaan swiped it off the ground, but immediately dropped it again after it singed his palm.

He turned, ready to help Elska take the second skorpius down. Apparently he didn’t need to, for it was already lying dead and dismembered on the ground. Several pyriads and one skorpius were still running loose, harassing the other mercenaries. Their weapons did little against these nymphs, so the crew’s mages once again took the lead with their magic.

Mr. Ocean summoned another fat orb of water from the lake. “Will you freeze it, Ms. Linde?” he asked. Linde blasted it with a beam of frost.

“Bust it, boys!” she ordered. Once it was frozen solid, Glenvar and Balthazaar bashed it with their weapons, causing it to shatter into pointed shards.

“Yer move, Skel!” called Glenvar.

With a telekinetic pulse, Skel sent the shards spinning towards the pyriads. The nymphs had no time to react, no way to protect themselves, and no way to hide from the assault. They could only shriek as they were impaled by hundreds of icicles, which quickly melted and extinguished them from the inside out. The last pyriad made a pathetic attempt to flee back into the forest, only for her legs to crumble into ash.

The shards only bounced off the skorpius, however, and it continued on its rampage towards the lake. Skel tried to fling it back with his power, but he’d exerted himself enough already the creature was simply too heavy. It was splashing through the water, quickly advancing on the panicking villagers.

“Ocean, stop that fucking thing!” Alaine screamed. From atop his gazebo, Mr. Ocean looked down at the final skorpius and jumped as if he’d just noticed it.

“Ah, I’m sorry! I have fungus in my eyes, you know,” he said, and with a casual flick of his staff, he summoned a orb of light and flung it in the monster’s face. The little orb rapidly orbited the skorpius’ head.

The skorpius stopped in its tracks. It batted the light with its claws, but they only passed straight through. The intense strobing effect left it enraged and disoriented, helpless to do anything but flail blindly. “Balthazaar, hold that tail for me!” called Alaine, then she and he moved in for the kill. Balthazaar hugged its tail, preventing it from stinging anyone as Alaine dived into the water.

A white light consumed her and she transformed into her aquatic form, all the better to dart under the skorpius’ belly—its one weak spot—with all the swiftness of a fish. She stabbed her sword into the soft flesh and opened a line from end to end. Black gore bloomed in the water around it, villagers screaming and retching in disgust. The skorpius’ cursed innards spilled out, leaving nothing but a lifeless husk of chitin behind.

The last hostile had fallen.

After a moment of uncertainty, weary cheers began swelling over the lake. Javaan turned to Elska and panted, “What zoo did you escape from, you damned beast?”

Clutching her bloody wound, Elska growled back, “What institution did you escape from, you damned fool?”

“Ms. Elska, are you alright?” asked Alaine, dragging herself back to shore. She squeezed the water from her hair and transformed back into her terrestrial shape.

She reached for Elska’s wound, but the centaur stepped away and insisted, “Do not concern yourself! It is nothing!” That said, she swiped the hot machete off the ground and pressed it to the gash.

It steamed and sizzled on contact, cauterizing the slice. Elska’s expression twisted in pain, and then she threw the weapon back down with a snarl. Her palm was left red and raw, but the wound on her belly had closed completely. Alaine led her back to the lake’s edge, telling her, “I never told you to take on all those bone-boys on your own! Now sit down and rest. That’s an order.”

With no other choice, Elska allowed herself to lay in the shallow water. The lapping waves soothed her wound and washed the blood from her, both red and black. Balthazaar wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm. “That _has_ to be the last of them,” he said breathlessly.

“Don’t speak too soon,” replied Alaine, pointing to the road. “Large hostile inbound! Weapons ready!”

The crew braced themselves on the shoreline, all eyes on the bulky silhouette in the smoke. It was surely another skorpius, they thought. But as it grew closer, their tension lifted and their weapons lowered.

Frederick began splashing his way back to shore, crying, “Dad! You’re alive!”

Or was he? Olof was moving slowly, limping on more than one injured leg. Dirt and blood was smeared over every inch of him. He hunched over like a bridge, cradling his right hand against his chest. A trail of blood was left in his wake. With a divine necromancer about, Alaine was wary. She grabbed Frederick when he tried to run by, holding him back.

“Everyone stay back! He might be enthralled!” she warned. The mercenaries parted for him as he limped his way to the lake, then collapsed on his side in the shallow water. His every breath was a labored heave, expression contorted in pain.

“Mr. Olof, if it’s really you, please say something,” said Alaine. When Olof opened his eyes, they were clear and blue with a spark of life. They flicked towards Frederick, standing beside the mermaid.

“Be good, my son,” he rasped, and then his head fell limp against the lapping waves.

*

Without her harness, Isaac had nothing to hold on to except a fistful of Shadow’s feathers. This was not ideal. But then again, absolutely nothing about the situation was.

He was soaring through clouds and smoke on the bare back of a roc, all while the forest burned below him with a horde of flying hostiles on his tail. The smoke was too thick here. Isaac directed Shadow to the southwest towards the open plains. He could see the sharp line where the Forest of Refuge ended and the Blue Valley began, divided by a narrow river.

Mr. Ocean’s clouds had grown heavy. They spread over the sky, and their clashing made thunder rumble over the land. Rain was beginning to fall.

Below, Evan and Lukas raced down the treacherous road on their horse. Scarlet bravely dodged fallen branches and leaped over flaming logs while Lukas scanned the skies through the canopy. Evan shielded them with his fireproof cape, blocking hot cinders and flaming debris that came hurtling their way.

“I see them,” Lukas announced. “They’re headed southwest!”

Evan urged the horse left at the next fork. They crossed the stone bridge that arched over the river to the plains. The fire was spreading out of the forest and into the grassland, carried along by laughing pyriads running amok.

Under the open sky, the mercenaries could see Disgrace and his horde above. The mutant roc was moving slowly, with no chance of catching Shadow racing ahead. But the speedy bat-dragons were catching up fast. They harassed Isaac with swoops and dives. Isaac retaliated with his scythe, lopping off wings and limbs as they passed.

“We need one of those dragons,” Evan decided.

“Say no more,” replied Lukas, nocking a grappling arrow in his bow. It was tipped with curved barbs, easy to pierce in but hard to pull out, and attached to its back end was a coil of thin rope.

Evan slowed the horse from a sprint to gallop, allowing Lukas to aim, and attached the end of the rope to Scarlet’s saddle. The archer fired, piercing one of the dragons right through the leather strap of its harness. “Got it! Reel it in, Ev!”

Seizing the thin rope, Evan jerked the dragon down from the sky. Its undead jockey looked on with confusion, helpless to stop its spiraling descent. The creature flapped its wings and fought against his pull, but between Evan’s strength and the horse’s weight, it was no use. Before long it was laying on the grass. Evan held its jaws shut and sat on its neck, pinning it down while Lukas battled its jockey.

The battle wasn’t long. With two swings of his sword, Lukas chopped through the bonewalker’s vertebrae and delivered a swift kick to its chest. Its ancient ribs crumbled beneath its armor, and then it fell out of the saddle in a heap of loose bones.

He and Evan took its place on the saddle. The dragon didn’t seem to mind once the position was filled, calm and ready and obey its new masters. Lukas swiped the bonewalker’s helmet and strapped it on his head before they took off.

“Ugh, this thing _stinks_!” he groaned.

Evan chuckled, “I’m sure you’ll live.”

“Let’s hope,” mumbled Lukas, and with a few experimental commands, Evan managed to get them airborne.

“Have you ever flown one of these things?” asked Lukas.

Evan shrugged. “Never. But I rode a sky-donkey once, remember?”

Lukas hugged the captain’s waist tighter and sighed, “Well, we’re dead…”

Above, Isaac fought off another assault from a dragonback bonewalker. Shadow intercepted another when she snatched its wing in her beak and ripped it off, sending both dragon and jockey hurtling towards the ground. Lightning struck close by, scaring a yelp from both Isaac and Shadow. The rain was pouring now in fat, aggressive drops.

Isaac glanced behind him. Disgrace was still in pursuit, and he knew he couldn’t flee him forever. He had another plan in mind anyway. Tugging Shadow’s feathers, he pulled a sharp U-turn, crashing into two more dragon jockeys. They smacked into Shadow’s mighty wings, jockeys exploding into loose bones as their mounts tumbled away.

The bonewalkers were brittle and pathetic, hardly an obstacle at all. Isaac knew Disgrace didn’t bring them along to slay him, but to cause a panic and steal his scythe back in the confusion. His plan was for nothing, thought Isaac, for he would slay Disgrace first!

He piloted Shadow straight towards the mutant roc, ducking down as she bashed through every dragon in her path. They all bounced off of her and sailed away. The last time he confronted Disgrace like this, the divine got cold feet and dodged his blow. This time was no different. Frantically tugging the reins of his mount, Disgrace sent it into a downward descent.

Isaac raised his scythe and took a swing, aiming for Disgrace’s head. He missed entirely and cut through one of the mutant’s four wings instead, lopping it off with one clean swipe. The creature faltered in the air, now flying lopsided. Isaac was relentless. He pulled another U-turn and sped towards Disgrace again. This time, Disgrace pulled back on his reins and forced his mount’s towards the sky.

There was no time to react. Shadow was moving too fast, and she could only shoot her talons out to brace herself for the crash. The massive birds met talon-to-talon, thrashing and screeching as they spun through the air. Neither of them was willing to let go, and Isaac was struggling to hang on to her feathers, too disoriented to stop her.

Disgrace took initiative and crawled around his mount’s side. With two chops, he cut off one of his roc’s clutching legs with his sword and it finally released Shadow, nearly throwing him in the process. The birds separated just before they hit the ground. Shadow’s talons just barely grazed the tall grasses before she swooped upwards again, while Disgrace’s mutant made a slow, vertical climb.

Evan watched the chaos from the back of his dragon, his heart filled with dread. He was struggling to pilot the creature in the right direction, the rain and wind were fighting against him, and the rocs’ acrobatics were too dramatic to keep up with anyway. Lukas fired more arrows, striking down Disgrace’s minions wherever he could. When he saw a clear shot, he aimed for Disgrace himself.

The masked divine barely flinched as the arrow pierced through his back. He gave it a quick glance, then yanked it out and tossed it away. All it did was draw his attention to Evan and Lukas. He briefly pointed his sword at them as he passed. The simple gesture was a warning, a threat, telling them that after he was through with Isaac, he’d slay them next.

Evan was undeterred. “Oh, really?” he laughed sardonically. “We’ll see about that, you son of a bitch!” He startled Lukas when he forced the dragon into a sharp turn to chase their foe down. Disgrace had already focused his attention back to Isaac, speeding towards him with the Divine Executioner once again.

It seemed Disgrace had a trick up his sleeve. Just before they made contact, he turned his lopsided mutant on its other side. Shadow crashed into two giant wings and it sent her spinning, careening straight into Evan and Lukas. Lukas ducked while Evan took the brunt of the hit, flailing madly as he rolled over her wing. The dragon lost control and spiraled to the ground. Lukas was dragged down with it, his screams disappearing under the wind.

Isaac saw a flash of blue on Shadow’s wing. He quickly realized it was Evan’s cape, flapping in the wind as he clutched the roc’s wing for dear life. “Shadow, steady!” he commanded, and Shadow stopped flapping, gliding gracefully on the breeze. Evan scrambled up the surface of her wing, taking Isaac’s extended hand. The younger mercenary pulled him onto her back behind him.

“What are you doing here? You’re gonna get killed!” Isaac nearly shouted.

“Right back at you, son!” Evan panted back, wiping the sweat off his dirty face. “You should’ve stayed at the lake! We would have backed you up and slain this monster together!”

Isaac argued, “I was just trying to get him out of the village! This is all my fault, so the least I could is put an end to it! You’re just getting in the way!”

“Isaac, you can’t slay a divine on your own! This is stupid!”

“ _You’re_ stupid! _You_ followed me into this mess!”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself, you stubborn brat!”

“Well, I never asked you to!”

Evan opened his mouth to argue, interrupted when a dragon-jockey crashed against Shadow. Evan and Isaac shielded themselves from the explosion of bones and rusty armor pieces as the dragon spun away. Isaac let out a hard, frustrated growl. “That’s it, I’m ending this now! Hang on tight!” he said, and Shadow pulled another sharp U-turn, speeding towards Disgrace.

Evan did as he was told, along for the ride as the rocs blew passed eachother again. Disgrace pulled his mount to the side just in time, the scythe missing him by a hair. The next time they passed, Isaac lopped off another wing on the mutant’s other side. Two wings could barely support the massive creature. It flapped madly, fighting to stay airborne.

Disgrace was getting desperate. The third time they passed, he was not so cowardly. He stood up on the mutant’s back and readied his sword for a strike. Without a saddle, Isaac could not do the same. Both weapons had an equally long reach, but with his inhuman reflexes, Disgrace leaped over the arc of Isaac’s swing and chucked his sword with all his might.

The blade spun through the air and stabbed into Shadow’s side all the way up to its hilt. “Shadow!” Isaac gasped, inaudible over the roc’s pained shriek. She thrashed her head about in pain, and yet she fought through it to keep an even flight. Frantic crows rumbled through her throat all the while, and Isaac knew she would not stay airborne much longer.

Isaac turned back to Disgrace and screamed furiously over the wind, “You’re gonna pay for that, you fuckin’ asshole! You’re _dead_!”

“Try to get above him,” advised Evan. “I’ll bring him to the ground, then we’ll take him out together.”

The plan sounded solid to Isaac, so he piloted Shadow towards the mutant for one final pass.

Evan planted his feet on Shadow’s back and crouched low. The moment Shadow passed over the mutant, he made a flying leap and landed directly on top of Disgrace. The mutant was struggling enough already, and even more so under the extra weight. Loud breaths gusted through its twin beaks, its fused hearts beating even faster than its wings.

Disgrace found himself trapped in a headlock. Without his sword, he reached back and seized Evan’s head. He couldn’t get a grip on the man’s short hair, so he tried to twist his head and snap his neck. Evan retaliated with a vicious bite. He sank his teeth all the way through Disgrace’s left palm and shook his head like a mongrel, ripping half of his hand away.

He spit out three fingers and a gush of foul, black blood. The rotten taste alone nearly made him retch. Disgrace wriggled in his grip, but once again their strength was evenly-matched. Evan cried out as he felt the divine’s elbow slam into his unarmored ribs. He flexed his abdomen and beared it once, twice, but the third time was simply too much. He felt his ribs crack under the force, his vision blurred for a brief moment, and his headlock loosened just enough for Disgrace to escape.

The divine turned around and socked Evan in the jaw. Blood sprayed with the impact, then again when he delivered a quick uppercut. Evan flailed blindly with blood in his eyes, grasping Disgrace’s mask. He let out a roar as he pulled on it, trying to throw him out of the saddle. The moment his hands touched the mask, Disgrace stopped beating on him.

He grabbed Evan’s wrist with his right hand, trying to push it away as he pressed down on his mask with his mutilated right stump, as if trying desperately to keep it on his face. The mutant flew aimlessly during their struggle, huffing and puffing its way back towards the forest. Isaac followed in hot pursuit. The mutant was slowly descending to the flaming trees. It was too injured and exhausted to keep itself in the air. Isaac watched in horror as the mutant crashed down into the forest, disappearing through the smoking canopy.

Evan and Disgrace’s battle came to a halt when they found themselves suddenly rocketing through the trees. They both hunkered down flat, enduring the tornado of flaming branches that snapped in their wake. The giant roc took out entire trees, snapping trunks in half until it finally slammed into one that refused to fall. The trunk just leaned under the force, absorbing the impact. The mutant tumbled to the forest floor, landing on its back. Its three talons twitched in the air, beaks snapping, surely seconds from death.

It had loyally absorbed the crash for its masked master, who clawed his way out from under its twitching body. Disgrace wobbled as he rose to his feet. One of his boots was missing, exposing a gray, mottled leg that faded to black at his foot. His toes were as dark as the putrid flesh of a corpse.

He turned all around, examining his flaming surroundings. Then he spotted Evan, staggering out from the other side of his dead mount. The captain’s face was smeared with blood from his jaw to his hair. He was soaked to the bone and covered in dirt and twigs, his front teeth were broken, and both his lip and eye were already swollen. Evan coughed up a mouthful of soil, blood, and teeth.

Still, he curled his fists, looked Disgrace in his jeweled eyes and growled, “Come here! I’m not done with you!”

Disgrace wasn’t done with him either, for he charged Evan like a furious animal. Evan braced himself for the impact, but he couldn’t get a foothold with his false leg. He was tackled right into the flaming thicket behind him. His cape could not protect him from the all-encompassing fire, and he screamed and thrashed helplessly in the brambles.

The heat didn’t seem to bother Disgrace. He closed his right hand around Evan’s throat and dropped a knee on him, pinning him to the ground while he burned alive. There was a loud cracking sound from above. Disgrace looked up, then dived away as Shadow crashed through the canopy.

He didn’t get far before he was pinned under her great talon. Isaac whistled and tapped the right side of the bird’s head, directing her attention to Evan. Shadow grabbed his cape in her beak, plucking him from the fire. It failed to ignite his wet clothes, but he was still badly injured, so Isaac wasted no time getting him to safety. Disgrace clearly wasn’t going anywhere—he could be dealt with afterwards.

Shadow clumsily took off back into the sky. She held Evan’s cape in her beak while Disgrace was squeezed in her talon. The cavalry sword was still sticking out of her side, blood gushing with each labored flap of her wings.

*

The rain came down in deafening sheets over Drifter’s Lake. The villagers waited around the shoreline, soaking wet with nowhere to take shelter. They waited and they endured, hoping that the lost would return, that the monsters would leave, that Mr. Ocean’s spell would kill the fires.

Alaine held her dragonscale hood steady in the howling wind. If the rain soaked her hair, she would suffer an unwanted transformation. Her crew huddled around her, still on the lookout for monsters as Dr. Che tended Olof nearby. Frederick sobbed in Philippa’s arms. “I don’t want him to die! He can’t die! Say he’ll be okay!” he cried. Philippa could tell him nothing with certainty, and only stroked his hair in silence.

Dr. Che had gathered natural materials from the thicket—leaves, grasses, and sticks—to address Olof’s injuries. Jeimos stepped in to cauterize the more serious wounds with their flames, including the stump at the end of his right arm. His hand and some length of his forearm had been completely ripped away, likely by the claws of a skorpius.

Having done all he could, Dr. Che stepped away from the centaur with bloodstains down the front of his white coat. Olof lie near the edge of the lake on his side, still unconscious.

“Well?” queried Alaine.

As he scrubbed his hands in the lake, Dr. Che replied grimly, “He lost very much blood. He is not dead, but the death will come if he is not dry soon. The air is sick now. The village is…” He paused, lines deepening around his mouth. “It is not a good place. We must all leave soon or the death will come for us.”

Frederick wailed over the villagers’ anxious murmurs. Alaine threw a glance towards Glenvar’s tiny houseboat. It was barely large enough to shelter one dworf-sized man, much less a centaur. Her own shack wasn’t much better, especially with all the clutter strewn about. Even then, the doctor was right: the air quality was too poor to tolerate for even a day longer, especially in this cold, wet weather. They had to get moving soon or they would all get sick and die.

The question was…where would they go?

A massive shadow passed overhead, tearing Alaine from her thoughts. Panic swelled over the refugees once more as a man dropped from the sky. He kicked and screamed the whole way down until he splashed into the middle of the lake.

“Shit, I think that was Evan!” said Alaine, already sprinting down the dock. She took a running leap into the water after him. The crew looked back towards the sky, watching Shadow zip back and forth over the clearing. Her shrieks ripped through the air, followed by Isaac’s frantic shouting. The bird seemed agitated. The crew had never seen Isaac struggle to control her this way.

“Everyone spread out, she’s comin’ down!” warned Glenvar. The mercenaries posted themselves at the edges of the clearing, staying light on the feet as Shadow swooped and rolled overhead. Finally she made a crash-landing, rolling across the grass until she hit a tree. Isaac was laying on the ground and wailing in pain, having been thrown at some point. His scythe lie some distance away.

She may have lost her grip on Evan and Isaac, but Shadow let go of Disgrace for nothing. He was still clutched in her talon as she turned herself upright. The crew kept a healthy distance from her. They watched in awe as she pinned the divine under her foot and let out a furious shriek, flapping her wings as if to appear larger, as if to intimidate the tyrant before her.

Disgrace wriggled beneath her, quaking with exertion as he tried to pry her scaly toes off his belly. He had but one hand to work with, the other mangled by Evan—who was being dragged to shore by Alaine in that moment. They arrived just in time to witness Shadow’s beak plunge through Disgrace’s chest.

The roc flapped and shrieked all the while she ripped the divine apart. She gored his midsection with her beak, ripped an arm loose, then picked him up by his leg and slammed him against the ground. His leg tore free and immediately melted into black slime, oozing down her beak.

Isaac scrambled for his scythe, using it to push himself upright. “Shadow! Stop!” he screamed. He hobbled towards her, using the scythe as a crutch. His crooked leg was obviously broken. His vision blurred and he collapsed in pain before he could reach Shadow, and she only continued to gore the divine before him. He whistled and shouted and begged her to cease, but there was no stopping her.

The roc had clearly gone feral with rage, and she did not stop her attack until there was nothing left to attack. Disgrace’s body melted into sludge. His golden mask crumbled into glittering dust. Suddenly every piece of him exploded in a burst of black smoke. It blew away with the wind, and then he was gone without a trace as if he’d never been there at all.

Shadow frantically pecked at the ground, searching for his corpse. Her rage seemed to dissipate, and as it left, her pain sank in. The cavalry sword was still lodged between her ribs, still gushing blood, and she was exhausted and injured from her battle with the mutant. Her exhaustion hit her all at once. She lowered herself to the ground with a defeated crow, staring at Isaac. She carried a solemn apology in her big, yellow eyes.

Isaac stared back, his own eyes full of tears. Tears of grief, of rage, and excruciating pain. He sat on his hip, crooked leg stretched out before him. He sat with his silence for a long moment and so too did his crew, struggling to process what they’d just seen. Isaac then picked up his scythe again and crawled over to Shadow. He leaned against her feathery neck.

His voice was strained with pain when he said, “You’ve been waiting to do that for a long time, huh?” The bird responded with a low, sickly crow, keeping her chin to the forest floor. Isaac nodded, wearing a tearful and inappropriate smile. “Now, you don’t know this—because you’re just a dumb bird—but he’s going to come back to life and do this all over again. I was supposed to kill him with this cursed scythe so that wouldn’t happen. You should’ve let me have him, Shadow. You should’ve listened. But you didn’t, because you’re a dumb bird. I’m mad at a dumb bird for doing dumb bird things. I’m so fucking mad at you right now, I could scream. But I won’t, ‘cause I might pass out. Guys?”

He turned to his crewmen, already cautiously approaching him. He went on breathlessly, words slurring together, “Evan needs a doctor and—and I think my leg’s broke. He says Luke is somewhere across the west bridge. Maybe dead. I-I dunno. Please find him.”

That said, his eyes rolled back and he fell limp against the roc. Alaine and Balthazaar dragged Evan out of the lake, laying him down on the pebbly shore. The captain coughed and sputtered, begging incoherently. All they could make out was Lukas’ name and a few desperate “please”s.

Alaine kneeled by his side and assured him, “I’ll send someone to find him, don’t worry. But we have to focus on evac first, or else none of us are getting out of this alive. Dr. Che says the air is poisoning us. Where do you want us to go?”

Evan hunched over on his hands and knees, taking a few wheezing breaths before he decided, “North. W-woodborne.” He pointed towards Mr. Ocean, who was still performing his rain dance atop the gazebo. Between wet coughs, he finished, “He stays. Everyone else out.”

Alaine cocked her head. “What? Evan, Mr. Ocean can’t stay here, he’ll—”

“He’ll contain the fire,” Evan wheezed. “He’s the only one who can. Just for tonight, ‘till the kingdoms respond.”

Alaine’s blue lips pressed together with doubt. “The. Air. Is. _Toxic_ ,” she reminded him slowly, enunciating each word.

Evan waved a dismissive hand. “He doesn’t need air. He’ll be fine in the lake.”

“Yeah, _all alone_! What if there’s still monsters around?”

“They’re gone, trust me. It’s over,” insisted Evan, bloody drool oozing from his mouth. He spit in the grass and told her sternly, wearily, “Just find Luke, please. I need…I-I need to lie down.”

Evan slumped down in the grass and the conversation ended there. Alaine chewed her lip as she mulled over his questionable orders. After a moment, she turned around and reluctantly began relaying them to the crew.

She approached Javaan first, intending to send him after Lukas. But perhaps she wouldn’t need to. They heard Lukas’ voice wailing somewhere in the distance, punctuated by a loud rustle and cracking branches. Alaine saw a flash of movement deep in the forest. The canopy was still swaying in the wake of something heavy.

Alaine, Javaan, and Jeimos rushed into the thicket to investigate. Javaan cleared a path with his machetes as Alaine called, “Lukas? Are you there?”

She could still hear his voice. He was groaning and sobbing pleas of mercy from the gods. They followed his voice for some time, until they found him lying on the forest floor. Flames were encroaching in around him, but he seemed too incapacitated to get away. Just above him, one of Disgrace’s bat-dragons was thrashing around in a tree. Its harness was stuck on a branch.

There it would stay, the mercenaries decided, and rushed to Lukas’ aid. “Lukas, talk to me,” ordered Alaine, kneeling by his side. He only regarded her with a pained wail. He clutched his abdomen with his shaking hands, his torn clothes soaked with blood. A bonewalker’s ancient, reeking helm was strapped to his head. Alaine took off the helm and tossed it away.

“He’s hurt bad,” she told the others. “We need to get him to Woodborne hospital! Javaan?”

“I got it,” said the centaur, and he scooped Lukas into his arms.

The commander cried and writhed on the way back, composing himself just enough to blubber, “T-t-tried to fly to…the lake…c-couldn’t—couldn’t make it…”

“Well, you got pretty damn close!” said Alaine, offering a smile. “Evan’s sure gonna be happy to see you.”

Lukas’ eyes rounded. “He’s alive?”

“Yep. Isaac too.”

“And Disgrace is dead!” Jeimos said brightly. After a pause, they added solemnly, “Er, well, for the time being. We’ll explain later. Any trouble breathing, chap?”

Despite his wheezing, Lukas shook his head and coughed, “No. Just b-broken bones, I think…a lot of ‘em…hurts bad…oh, it hurts…!” He tossed his head back against Javaan’s chest, quivering and gnashing his teeth.

“Alaine, he looks quite pale,” Jeimos whispered.

The mermaid hurried onward and told them, “He’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay, we just need to stick together. Let’s get everyone to Woodborne and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”

*


	3. Fleeing the Flames

**[CHAPTER 3: FLEEING THE FLAMES]**

Mr. Ocean’s rain beat back the flames just enough for the mercenaries to sneak back into the village. Half of it was still burning, the other half black and smoldering, but they managed to salvage two functioning carts from the wreckage. All of the livestock was dead or missing, so they fastened the carts to their centauran crewmen instead.

With these carts, the refugees hauled any supplies they could find to Woodborne along with the injured. The journey took a long, grueling day and a half, but they all arrived together and alive—at least for now. Some of the injured were barely clinging to life; particularly Olof, who had developed a fever the day prior.

Isaac was among those rushed to the hospital. No one in the caravan was a Folkvaran citizen, so they were treated to lesser care in canvas tents outside the building. Each of these tents contained little more than four bedrolls on the ground. Isaac was carried into a tent on a stretcher and given a cup of green, bitter liquid to drink. Shortly after he drank it, he felt his muscles go limp and the world faded away.

When he awoke, he was still in the tent. But it was a different time of day, for he could see the pink hue of the sunset through the door-flap. Isaac’s head was swimming. Whatever that bitter stuff was, he wanted more. His once overwhelming pain was but a dull ache now, and he noticed that his broken leg was wrapped up tight. His clothes had been replaced by a white, cotton gown that opened in the back.

Isaac turned to his right. Lukas was lying in the bedroll beside him, snoring quietly. Lukas? Asleep? Isaac could hardly believe his eyes! He must have been pumped full of drugs, for he did not stir even when Isaac nudged him.

Isaac blinked, refocusing in the dim tent as he looked to his left. The two bedrolls on that side were empty. In the back of his weary mind, he wondered how the rest of the crew was fairing. Dr. Che tended Shadow’s wound before they left Drifter’s Hollow, but what if she got an infection? Was there a veterinarian in Woodborne who could help her?

There were so many worries in his head, yet the drugs calmed his body and made his eyelids heavy. Alaine would take care of everything, he reasoned. There was no need to worry about her or any of his crew. They were in capable hands.

He was just starting to nod off again when he heard a commotion outside. It sounded like Evan was arguing with someone. “No, please, I’m fine! You don’t understand, I’m their captain! Let me go! I have to—”

His protests came to an abrupt halt. Two troll medics walked in then, dragging an unconscious Evan inside by his arms. They laid him down on the bedroll next to Isaac. One of them cuffed the captain’s wrist to a metal support beam, then plucked two tranquilizer darts out of his neck. The other troll pointed to Isaac and told him, “You, keep an eye on this one. He’s in no condition to be out running around in this cold. If he tries to escape again, just yell for us.”

Isaac’s drugged-up brain could hardly keep up with the scene in front of him. “Uh, ‘kay?” he slurred. The trolls walked out, leaving him with two unconscious crewmen. Evan didn’t stay unconscious for long. His lycanthrope metabolism shook off the tranquilizers in minutes. Like Isaac, he was dressed in a white gown and covered in bandages.

Evan swayed dizzily when he sat upright, holding the metal beam for support. A scowl crossed his face when he realized he was cuffed to it. “Isaac,” he croaked, “son, you need to help me out. See if you can find a key, or—”

Isaac cut him off, shaking his head. “No. They’re right, you should stay and rest.”

Evan paused, quirking his brows in disbelief. “This isn’t a joke! I have a crew to manage! Now do as you’re told and find me a key!”

“Evan, you look like _shit_! You’re in terrible shape!” barked Isaac. “Would you just take it easy for once in your life?”

The lycanthrope argued, “There’s no need for this! I feel fine!”

“Have you seen a mirror lately? There’s a welt on your head the size of your fist! Look at your eyes, your pupils aren’t even the same size!” Isaac gestured to Evan’s head, which was tightly wrapped with gauze. “Just relax, _please_! We have a chain of command, right? Alaine can handle things ‘til tomorrow, or whenever your head doesn’t look like a smashed pumpkin anymore.”

“It’s the middle of the cold season! We need to be sure everyone has a warm place to stay, that we secure food and water, that—”

“Evan, listen to me,” Isaac began slowly. “They’re not stupid kids. They’re all grown, they can figure this stuff out for themselves. I know your heart’s in the right place, but you seriously need to back off sometimes.”

The captain turned away with a subtle roll of his eyes, letting out a huff. Isaac continued, “This is what I was talking about the other day when you came after me! It’s like you think I’m an idiot or something. You almost got killed, you almost got Lukas killed, and you screwed up my whole plan just ‘cause you didn’t have faith in me!”

Evan’s head whipped towards him again and he snapped, “I don’t regret what I did for a second! You almost got _yourself_ killed, boy! You don’t understand this now because you’re only a child. But when you’re grown, you’ll look back on this and kick yourself for being so foolish. Foolish and ungrateful, that’s what you are!”

“Oh, for gods’…!” Isaac growled, tossing up his hands. “I had Disgrace exactly where I wanted him! I almost slayed the Divine of Hate himself, _you_ barged in and screwed it up, and now you’re really gonna sit here and call me a _child_? Listen to yourself! You’re the problem, not me!”

Evan’s swollen face turned pink with anger, or shame, or perhaps a mix of the two. He inhaled a sharp breath through his nostrils, body tensed, ready to launch into a shouting match. Before he opened his mouth, Lukas stirred with a long, miserable groan. All at once, Evan’s hot emotions cooled. His anger deflated like a balloon, tone full of concern when he queried, “Lukas, are you alright? What do you need?”

The commander rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. His muffled voice replied, “I need you to shut up so I can sleep! These drugs aren’t going to last forever!”

Evan and Isaac looked at one another, sharing a silent exchange. With just one look, they agreed to call a truce, at least for the time being. “I’m sorry. Sleep well, my friend,” Evan told Lukas, and then he settled down into his own bedroll. In the silence, he was the captive audience to his own thoughts and feelings. He started noticing the ache in his bones, the pain radiating from his broken teeth, the sting of his burns, and the throbbing in his head.

Disgrace had really done a number on him, he realized. His lycanthropy usually healed most wounds in a day or less, yet here he was two days later, cuffed to a pole in a medical tent because doctors had deemed him too injured to leave.

Maybe Isaac was right. What if he really was an overbearing control-freak? Evan liked to think his behavior was only out of love, but did it truly come from a lack of trust in his friends? He entertained the thought, but he could not yet admit it to himself. The brat had started a terrible war in his head, and it only made the ache worse.

*

Even a prosperous city like Woodborne was no stranger to poverty. Within its walls was a vast slum district where forgotten peoples dwelled. Today, the refugees from Drifter’s Hollow were among them.

They unloaded their scant, salvaged supplies out of the carts and claimed an empty alley between two buildings. That was where they set up makeshift shelters, slapped together from wood and metal debris they found on the streets. By nightfall, the long alley was cluttered by tents and shoddy shelters. It began to rain, and Alaine wondered if it was a gift from the aurae or if Mr. Ocean had lost control of his storm.

Alaine was the only woman among the refugees tonight. Ginger, Linde, Philippa, Elska, and all the other women and children were accepted into a House of Love and Light, at least for a few days. Alaine was accepted too, but she refused to go. With Evan and Lukas still out of commission, they had entrusted the crew to her. She decided she would rather suffer among them than thrive away from them.

A crackling fire illuminated the alley in its glow, burning in a metal barrel full of trash. Villagers and mercenaries crowded around it for warmth, sheltered by a metal sheet they erected above. Though it was protected from the rain, the wind was determined to blow their fire out. They guarded the flame with their bodies, enduring the wind’s cold assault against their backs.

After some deliberation, Alaine approached the group with a plan. “I have to stay here and secure resources tomorrow,” she began, “so which one of you lucky boys is gonna wake up at the crack of dawn to pick up Mr. Ocean?”

Without hesitation, Balthazaar offered, “I’ll go. Feredil is still back there too. I need to find her.” His tone was slow and heavy with sadness.

Javaan clapped a hand on his back. “I’ll go with you.”

“Mr. Javaan, your cut…” mentioned Jeimos, gesturing to the long slice across his flank.

The centaur shook his head and assured them, “It’s fine. The blade was hot, it cauterized itself. I’m fit to run across Noalen and back!”

“Well, at least take Sable,” insisted Jeimos, tipping their head back towards their horse. She was hitched to a pipe in the alley, chewing on weeds. “She can carry anything—or anyone—you bring back with you.”

“It’s a long, dry stretch between here and Drifter’s Hollow,” Alaine reminded them. “Mr. Ocean can’t make the journey on foot, and even by horse he’ll be cutting it close. I need you two to make tracks on the way back. No camping, no sightseeing! Don’t even stop to shit! Are we clear?”

Javaan grinned and told her confidently, “You know us, Captain. We may be full of shit, but we always get the job done.”

Before long, everyone retreated to their shelters to sleep. Alaine’s roof leaked so badly that she transformed in the night. The rain finally stopped by morning, and after wringing out her hair, she was back on her scaly feet to dish out orders. She was wearing her filthy clothes from yesterday, running on two broken hours of sleep and a handful of peanuts someone salvaged from the Hollow.

_Evan can’t come back fast enough_ , she thought miserably, though she tried with all her might to keep a strong face. As the refugees bustled about, she caught a glimpse of some strangers coming down the alley. She squinted in the morning sun beaming in after them.

It was none other than Evan! Isaac wasn’t far behind, hobbling along on crutches. Both of them were wrapped in gauze and painted with bruises. Alaine sprinted towards them and threw her arms around Evan’s neck with a squeal. She planted a solid kiss on his cheek and exclaimed, “There you are, Atty! I’m so glad you’re back! It was getting boring around here without you, you know!”

“Boring, huh?” Evan chuckled. “And here I was, up all night worrying about you. I guess you didn’t need me after all.”

Alaine waved her hand and told him, “Oh, please, it’s not like babysitting is hard! I just missed you, that’s all. How’s Luke?”

Evan sighed, answering carefully, “He’s…hanging in there. The medics want to keep him for another day, at least.”

“Mr. Ocean could probably fix him up quick,” mentioned Isaac. “I bet he could mend my leg too! Is he back yet?”

Alaine told them, “Balthazaar and Javaan just left to go get him. With any luck, they’re bring some survivors back too.”

The lines on Evan’s face deepened, strained by worry. “Any word on Flora or Feredil?”

“Not yet,” the mermaid sighed. “All we have is hope.”

*

Smoke was still rising from the south horizon in thin, gray streams. Javaan and Balthazaar followed it back to Drifter’s Hollow. As they neared the forest, they passed a boulder bearing a message they scratched into it before they left.

“ _GONE TO WOODBORNE – FGG_ ”

They hoped that any survivors would see it and seek them out. So far, no such luck.

The two stepped into an alien world of ash and bare, black stalks. The lush, green place they once called home was now a wasteland. The abrasive stench of smoke was still hanging in the air, and they could still see small patches of debris burning. The fires were on their way out, for Mr. Ocean’s rain may have stopped, but the forest was left soaked in its wake.

Balthazaar slowly rode through on Sable’s back, Javaan following closely behind with a machete in hand. They gasped and marveled at the destruction around them, their hearts growing heavier with grief.

“Feredil! Feredil! Where are you, honey?” Balthazaar called into the blackened forest as they moved deeper into the village, or what was left of it. In place of the market was a great pile of ash and soot-covered odds and ends. The inn was mostly collapsed with only a few beams standing. Gwyneth’s treehouse had fallen out of its tree, now lying in a blackened heap at its trunk.

The mercenaries expected this kind of eerie silence from a desert, but never from a forest. There was not even birdsong to be heard, much less the cries of any survivor. Javaan coughed and tightened the bandana around his mouth. His voice came out muffled when he suggested, “Let’s check the compound.”

They moved down the southern road, climbing over trunks and branches that had fallen across it. They passed the mutilated corpse of a skorpius, untouched by the flames. Bones and pieces of ancient armor were scattered around the roadsides, as if dozens of bonewalkers had suddenly fell to pieces. They saw piles of sludgy matter and knew they were pyriad remains, for clusters of red pyre crystals were already sprouting from the skeletons beneath.

Once, a wall of towering logs surrounded the Freelance Good Guys’ compound. Now it was burned and collapsed, and so too was Lukas’ outpost near the front gate. Across the street, they were surprised to see Evan’s house mostly unscathed. The shingled roof had caved in here and there, and the barn in back was skeletonized, but the stone exterior stood stalwart as ever.

They peeked around the pasture and saw no signs of Evan’s cows, not even a corpse. Perhaps they had escaped, they thought, and moved on towards the plaza.

Balthazaar hoped Feredil would be waiting for him at the boarding house. But like everything else in the village, the entire building had collapsed into charred rubble, along with the chicken coop, Evan’s office, and the dining hall. Traces of smoke were still rising from the remains. Balthazaar saw no sense in digging through the rubble. His eyes were growing moist.

He looked around, scanning the surrounding forest. “Feredil!” he called again, voice cracking with grief and desperation. Javaan simply squeezed his shoulder. The two heard a rustling sound and turned to see a familiar cecaelia stepping out of the black thicket. He was carrying a large stone in his arms.

“Oh, thank the gods!” exclaimed Javaan. He trotted up to Mr. Ocean and took the stone from him. “Let me take that. Are you alright?”

Mr. Ocean looked weary, his feet caked in ash up to his knees. His hands and forearms were equally filthy. He replied, “My hearts are heavy with grief, my friends. But I am alive. The same cannot be said for everyone.”

Face blanching, Balthazaar dismounted his horse and stormed up to him. “Ocean, where is my wife? H-have you seen her?”

The cecaelia’s face twitched, yellow gaze dropping to the gnarled leaves below. “Come with me,” he said quietly. Javaan and Balthazaar followed him back down the main road and out of the compound, leading Sable by her reins.

Ocean led them down a narrow path through the trees. They stepped into a clearing marked by a ring of stones. Here the ash and debris had been swept away, exposing brown dirt beneath. Larger stones were stacked in six piles where the dirt had been disturbed. Mr. Ocean took his stone back from Javaan and placed it atop one of the stacks, then beckoned them over with a sweep of his hand.

Reluctantly, the two approached what was obviously a grave. Balthazaar dropped to his hands and knees. He let out a long moan of despair, scooping something out of the dirt with his trembling hands. He held two golden earrings and a matching necklace, all slightly warped by heat. Balthazaar closed them in his dirty palms, threw himself over the grave and began to sob.

Mr. Ocean couldn’t bear to see the man in such a state. He simply turned away and said, “I am very sorry.”

Javaan walked around the clearing, examining the other graves. Each one was decorated with personal items that Mr. Ocean must have dug out from the rubble; everything from jewelry to shoes to tools. His jaw fell slack in disbelief. “Who else…?” he asked carefully.

The cecaelia replied, “The blacksmith and the innkeeper, for certain. Perhaps the glassmaker’s wife, but it is hard to tell. I recovered some remains from the inn that I could not identify, but I’d wager they were not locals.”

Pulling down his mask, Javaan let out a deep sigh and raked his hands over his long braids. “Gods…” he said. It was all he could manage.

After a moment, Balthazaar pushed himself upright. He wiped the tears from his eyes, leaving a smear of soot behind. Turning to Mr. Ocean, he sniffled, “Where was she?”

“I found her on the long road to the lake,” replied Mr. Ocean, sweeping a tentacle vaguely to the east. “There was a dead skorpius nearby. Whatever happened, it looked to be swift. I don’t believe she suffered.”

“Are you absolutely certain it was her?” asked Balthazaar. His brows shot up, eyes wide and desperate.

The cecaelia shifted uncomfortably. “I, er…retrieved that jewelry from her person,” he said, nodding down at the pieces in Balthazaar’s hands. “If it indeed belongs to her, then I am certain.”

Balthazaar looked down at the jewelry in his hands, shaking his head as if he didn’t want to believe, as if he could reject the truth and make it not so. But Feredil’s grave stood before him, her remains buried beneath him, and the last remnants of her weighed heavy in his palms. Wish as he might, he could not undo what was done. Feredil was gone.

*

Clouds blanketed the sky, chilling the autumn air. Such a temperature did not bother centaurs, so while the other refugees huddled around their fires, Elska and Frederick made the long trek across town to the hospital.

Medics in white garb rushed to and fro, but no one stopped the centaurs as they peeked into Olof’s tent. His bulk took up nearly the entire floor space, leaving none left for roommates. He lay on his side with a white sheet draped over most of his body.

“Dad?” queried Frederick, stepping forward. He nudged Olof with his hoof, but he didn’t stir. Frederick immediately burst into tears and cried, “Ms. Elska, he’s not moving! He’s dead! He died and it’s all my fault!”

“He is not dead, little one,” Elska assured him. “He was in great pain. They have given him medicine to help him sleep.”

Frederick lowered himself to the floor, throwing his arms around his father. “He saved me from that skorpius,” he sniffled. “I-I didn’t know he c-could be brave like that. I’m sorry, Dad! I’m sorry I called you a coward, I didn’t mean it! It’s not true!” His words degraded into heaving sobs.

The lines in Elska’s face deepened ever so slightly. She had never seen the boy so upset. “An honorable centaur would always fight for his clan,” she told him. “My father did the same, and now he runs free in the cosmos. Your father still runs upon Gaia, so now is the time to make him proud. Only the gods are forever.”

Frederick squeezed Olof in a tight hug before rising back to his hooves. He wiped his leaky eyes and said, “I’m gonna be good from now on. That’s what he told me to do. I’m gonna make him proud, I promise!”

A tiny smile tugged at Elska’s lips. She rustled the boy’s greasy hair, then they left the tent together. There was nothing more they could do for Olof. He was in the hands of fate now.

They returned to their alleyway encampment before sundown. Javaan and Balthazaar showed up at the same time with Mr. Ocean in their company. The crew crowded around to meet them, bombarding the group with questions. Balthazaar ignored them and shoved through the crowd, storming off to his makeshift shelter.

Evan watched him disappear, then turned to Javaan with wrinkles on his brow. “No sign of Feredil?” he asked.

Javaan and Mr. Ocean glanced at one another. Neither of them was eager to respond. Javaan took initiative and sighed, “No, Ocean found her. Just…not alive.”

Solemn murmurs spread over the crew. A gorgon woman slithered up to the centaur, clasping her hands with hope when she hissed, “What about my wife? Where is my Ezli?”

Javaan was too exhausted to pick through his words anymore. He simply told her, “She didn’t make it. I’m sorry.” He winced when the gorgon reacted just as he expected, rushing away with her face in her palms.

Mr. Ocean announced to the others, “I summoned rains until sundown, and then I recovered bodies all through the night. I regret that I could not do more. I am sorry, my friends, but I must rest until further notice.”

His voice was burdened by fatigue. Alaine stepped forward and took him by the arm, leading him back to her shelter. “Of course. Let’s get you some water,” she said. His skin was already flaking with dehydration. Isaac followed them on his crutches. Alaine directed the cecaelia to sit near a gutter, where a large bucket was placed to catch its runoff.

Clearing his throat, Isaac began, “Hey, um, Lukas is still in the hospital. He’s really banged up. I was just wondering if maybe you could…?”

“Isaac, not now!” barked Alaine. “The man comes back dehydrated and half-dead, and you’re already asking him for stuff? Really?” She was scooping water from the bucket with her hands and rubbing it into Mr. Ocean’s skin.

Isaac exclaimed, “I don’t mean right this second! Sheesh!” Shifting his gaze to Mr. Ocean, he went on, “Whenever you _feel up to it_ , there’s folks in the hospital who could really use your help. I’ve seen you mend bones like it’s nothing. If you could just get Luke back on his feet, Evan would…well, watch out, because he might kiss you.”

A chuckle rumbled from Mr. Ocean, ragged and weak. “Kisses are nice, but I would settle for a raise,” he jested. “I see your leg is in bad shape too. I can surely straighten it out, but it will not be tonight. Perhaps not even tomorrow. I…I have not come that close to arcane burnout in centuries. I’ve forgotten how miserable it feels.”

“Right, don’t worry about it now,” Isaac told him. “It’s more important that y—”

“Aw, shit!” snapped Alaine. She jerked away from the cecaelia, looking down at her palms. They were stained with bright green residue. “Mr. Ocean, when’s the last time you took your medicine?”

The cecaelia thought about it for a moment. His eyes rounded with alarm when he answered, “It was the day before yesterday. I was so distracted by the fire, I forgot all about it!”

Alaine sighed, “Alright. I’ll send one of the boys to go get it. It’s in the boarding house, right?”

“Er…” Mr. Ocean hesitated, anxiously stroking his beard of tentacles. “It _was_. But there is no boarding house anymore.”

Isaac shook his head and hobbled away. Scrubbing her hands clean in the contaminated bucket, Alaine grumbled, “Looks like you’ll have to make some soup for Morbus then. God, that’ll take days! And you’ll be contaminating everything in sight until then, so just…ugh, don’t move. I’ll see if I can find a metal tub or something.”

Isaac heard the mermaid’s frustrations as he slowly made his way towards Evan. He tugged on the captain’s cape and reported, “Captain, Mr. Ocean is out of medicine. I’m going to Tonsborg to get more.”

Evan quirked his brows at him. “You’ll do no such thing! Not in your condition,” he said.

Isaac growled back, “It’s my fault this happened in the first place, Evan! The whole village is gone and it’s all because of me! This is the very least I could do, so would you just have some damn faith in me?”

The captain didn’t get a chance to reply before Isaac reached into his satchel, helping himself to a fistful of coins. He stuffed them in his coat pocket and hobbled towards Sable, hitched to a pipe nearby.

Evan took a step after him. Suddenly he thought better of it, shaking his head with a defeated, nasal sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. He said nothing more while Isaac took off to Tonsborg on horseback. Shadow was perched on the rooftop above the alley, still recovering from the stab wound in her chest. She watched him leave with a displeased crowing sound.

*

Isaac arrived in Tonsborg just before the sun did. Steam billowed from his mouth as he hitched Sable in front of the big, run-down tenement building. No matter how carefully he dismounted the horse, pain rocketed up his broken leg and he collapsed on the sidewalk with a wail. The long journey left him terribly sore and the bitter-cold air wasn’t helping.

He grabbed the horse’s saddle and pulled himself upright again. His crutches were strapped to the back. He retrieved them and hobbled his way into the building with his scythe on his back harness. A long, winding staircase greeted him inside.

With a long-suffering groan, Isaac began his slow, arduous ascent. He deserved every moment of this, he thought. He had no right to complain, not after all the madness he caused. He should have listened to Wisdom. He should have never taunted Disgrace back in Serkel, should have never even said his name aloud. Even the Divine Executioner could not spare him from the consequences of his arrogance.

Isaac stopped half-way up the stairwell. He grit his teeth and leaned his forehead against the wall, waiting for the shooting pain in his leg to subside. He knew it would not subside completely, but as bad as it was now, he just couldn’t continue. He felt as if he’d collapse, vomit, or pass out and go tumbling down the stairs.

None of that sounded appealing, so he allowed himself to rest until he heard a woman’s voice call, “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Isaac turned away from the wall and saw two women climbing the stairs. They were both mermaids, blue of hair and scaly of face. They were dressed quite immodestly for the season. Isaac straightened his back and told them, “Oh yeah! I’m fine, thanks! Just got a bad leg right now. I’ll live.”

The mermaids stepped up to him, their blue lips curled into mischievous smiles. They looked to be Alaine’s age, give or take a few years. “You don’t have to pretend,” one of them said. “We saw you crying up here, you poor baby.”

“I was not crying!” insisted Isaac.

The mermaids just laughed. The other asked, “Where are you trying to go?”

Uh, unit 102. It’s on the fourth floor. I’ll be there in no time,” he said, forcing a smile through his pain.

The mermaid chuckled, “You’ll show up with gray hair at the rate you’re going!”

“Woah!” Isaac yelped when the other lifted him up like a child and began carrying him up the next flight.

“We’re actually headed there ourselves,” she said. “Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”

Isaac tried to protest, but neither of them would hear it. They swiftly carried him up three more flights and up to Morbus’ door without breaking a sweat. These had to be a couple of Oceanic Resistance soldiers, Isaac thought. Or they used to be, before Mr. Ocean disbanded the faction. Their hair was quite short and their outfits revealed well-defined muscles.

It was probably best if he kept his mouth shut about Alaine and the Hollow. He said nothing except “thank you” when they put him back on his feet, then one of them knocked on the door with a distinct and deliberate rhythm.

Morbus was quick to answer it. “Hello, ladies! Come in, come in! I have just what you want!” she said brightly, ushering the mermaids inside. Her expression changed when she saw Isaac trying to hobble in after them. She blocked his path with her gnarled, decrepit hand and barked, “Wait a minute, who on Gaia are you?”

“Ms. Morbus, we’ve met before! Twice!” Isaac told her. Fatigue and exasperation was creeping into his tone.

“I see a thousand faces every day, boy! You really expect me to remember yours? What makes you so special?” the elfenne snapped.

Isaac hesitated. What could he tell her that wouldn’t give Mr. Ocean away to these Resistance veterans? He cleared his throat and began, “Well, uh…My name is Isaac. We last met about a year ago. I showed up with one of Dr. Che’s patients and we made a special deal on his medicine. I’m just here to get some more for him.”

Morbus furrowed her painted brows. Suddenly her eyes widened and she stepped aside, welcoming him through. “Oh, yes, I certainly remember now! You are a special one, aren’t you? Come on in and have a seat. Let me serve these nice ladies and then we can have a chat, hm?”

Isaac passed into the apartment. It was as cluttered as ever, with books and boxes stacked to the ceiling. The mermaids whispered to eachother while he sat down on the couch, laying his crutches across his lap. The fabric was covered in many colors of cat hair. The sour stench of cat urine was even stronger than he remembered.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back! Don’t touch anything!” said Morbus, and she disappeared down a narrow corridor. Isaac looked around at the dusty, grungy surfaces around him. He wouldn’t dream of it anyway. Even the most desperate of thieves would be wary to dig through these walls of clutter, lest they collapse and bury them alive.

Morbus returned shortly with two glass jars in her hands. They were both filled with green, glowing liquid. There was no mistaking it, Isaac knew Mr. Ocean’s tainted bathwater anywhere. The tiny spores sparkled like fireflies as Morbus held them up to the light, briefly checking for impurities before shoving the jars in brown paper sacks. Isaac watched her trade the sacks to the mermaids in exchange for a fat sack of coins.

The mermaids then made an eager exit, leaving Isaac alone with the shady alchemist. As soon as the door shut, he turned to her and queried, “Did you just _sell_ Ocean’s bathwater to those ladies?”

“So what if I did?” asked Morbus, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Isaac furrowed his brow. “You know they’re addicted to that stuff, right? You said you were just using it for research!”

“Have some compassion, boy,” Morbus began. “I’m just a poor, elderly immigrant trying to make ends meet. I was tricked by a melusine and cursed with Haggomah’s blight in the prime of my life! I am a victim of misfortune, cursed to be poor and ugly in a pitiless kingdom. The king won’t pay my bills, and they certainly won’t pay themselves. Pitiful folk like me have to make do, and we certainly don’t need your _judgments_.”

With that, she turned and began rifling through a cabinet, “Now, do you need more medicine or not?”

With a sigh, Isaac unbuttoned his pocket and took out Evan’s gold. “Yeah. As much as fifty GP will buy, please.”

“GP?” Morbus froze, whipping her head back to him. “I don’t take gold pieces for this. Hand over some greenlite and we’ll talk.”

“Are you kidding? Didn’t you just say you needed money?”

“Yes! And I need product to _make_ money! One pill for one jug of greenlite water, that was our deal.”

“Well, I don’t have any,” said Isaac. He extended his palm full of coins to her. “Can’t you do it just this once?”

Morbus closed the cabinet and crossed her arms again. “If I break our deal this time, you’ll just come crawling back and expect me to do it again and again. Don’t think me a fool, child! I’m the best potion-slinger in this gods-forsaken town, and I’m already giving you far more than you deserve. Present some greenlite to me or get out of my house! I haven’t got time for this nonsense.”

Isaac sucked a sharp breath through his nostrils, his face burning hot. He slammed the ends of his crutches on the floor and shot upright, thrusting a finger in her face when he shouted, “Alright, listen! The Divine of Hate himself just attacked my village! My home is destroyed, some of my friends are dead, I’ve been sleeping in a gutter, and I _still_ dragged myself all the way here from Woodborne with broken bones because I thought maybe—just maybe—I could do one little thing to help my people!”

He stepped forward and yelled in Morbus’ face, “Now you’re telling me you’re a poor little peasant, but you won’t take my gold? Why don’t _you_ have some compassion, you nasty old witch?” He threw his fistful of coins at her feet. They made a racket on impact, scattering every which way.

Morbus stepped back in surprise, staring down at the mess. Isaac fumed before her, each breath ragged with rage. His brow softened when she glared up at him. Her eyes seemed to glow with sheer intensity.

Less than a minute later, Isaac hobbled out of her apartment covered in little red blisters. Worse yet, he left without Mr. Ocean’s medicine.

He regretted his words. He truly did. He never meant to lose his temper at her, but the pressures of life weighed so heavy on him, he was bound to burst sooner or later. Morbus just happened to take the brunt of it, and she showed her appreciation by cursing him with an itchy pox.

The pox was temporary. Probably. Isaac remembered when Lukas was cursed with a similar affliction a few years ago after mouthing off to the wrong elf. Isaac judged Lukas at the time, wondering how he could possibly be so stupid. Today, he wore the same shade of stupid from head to toe and it itched something fierce.

The long staircase awaited him once more. Isaac slowly made his way down, stopping every few steps to take his hands off his crutches and scratch his blisters. Several minutes passed by the time he reached the third floor. He was already exhausted, taking a deep breath before he pressed on.

Just then, a creaky voice called down at him from the floor above. “I changed my mind! I’ll give you this, but I want twice the product next time to make up for it!”

Isaac looked up and saw Morbus leaning over the balcony. She pitched a paper bag at him and it bounced off his face. He watched it tumble down the stairs to the second floor, scattering its contents. Seven little black pills rolled out, and he could hear some of them bouncing down the steps further down.

Isaac spent nearly an hour painstakingly searching for every pill. Once all seven were back in the bag, he exited the building. He stopped in the doorway, surprised by the sight before him. Shadow was perched on the building across the street. Her pupils enlarged when she spotted him and she let out a screech, jumping down to greet him.

“What are you doing here?” the mercenary blurted. It seemed townsfolk were wondering the same, staring at the roc in awe. She nuzzled Isaac with her beak and rumbled joyful sounds from the depths of her throat. Dr. Che’s big patch of gauze was still stuck over her wound, spotted with blood.

She must have flown after him on her own accord. Isaac ached with such pain, itched with such ferocity, was so overwhelmed by grief and anger and stress that all he could do was break down in tears. He wrapped his arms around the roc’s neck and wept into her feathers.

Shadow pinched his weapon harness in her beak and lifted him up, placing him on her back. Wiping his tears, the mercenary sniffled, “I take it all back, Shadow. I’m not mad at you anymore. You might be a dumb bird, but you’re the best dumb bird in the world.”

With his scythe, he reached out and hooked its crescent blade around Sable’s reins, unhitching her from the post. “Let’s go home. Or…whatever we’re calling home these days. Ugh,” he grumbled, scrubbing his fingers against his tired eyes. Shadow spread her wings and lifted off. She circled the area once, then swooped down and snatched Sable in her talons before flying off towards Woodborne.

The horse kicked and brayed with fright at first, then settled into quiet complacency as she soared like a pegasus. Shadow curled her scaly toes around Sable’s midsection, minding her claws as she was trained to do when carrying livestock. The journey back would be much shorter and easier by sky. Isaac wasn’t sure if he deserved the break fate had thrown him, but he took it anyway. The less time he spent travelling, the sooner he could return and help his crew.

His quest for his past could wait. His family needed him now.

**END**

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked the story, kudos and comments are appreciated. I'm always open to criticism, so if you noticed anything that could be improved, please let me know!
> 
> Pretty much every character went through the wringer in this one...Will they be able to recover from such a big loss? And where is Flora anyway?
> 
> I drafted this story 2 years ago, and ironically, just got around to writing the final draft as my state was experiencing the worst wildfire event in its history. Go figure. I better not write about earthquakes any time soon...


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